The Core of Power: Soul Connection
by SapphireDragon92
Summary: Vernon Dursley has been transferred to a branch of Grunnings just outside of Ottery St Catchpole. Because of this, Harry's friendship with Ginny arises earlier than it was supposed to, and a soul bond manifests between Harry and one Ginny Weasley...
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling. If I was, this story would be hitting the bookshops right now, not hitting a fanfiction site. I doubt this would sell anyway. Regardless of that, enjoy!**

**Author's Note: To those of you who have not read the original of this, I hope you enjoy! For those of you who do, I hope you prefer longer chapters and one story rather than a short-chaptered series, because if not, then too bad! (Muahahahahaha!) Read and review! **

**Note: Also, you may notice that I've bumped the rating up to T. This is more of a precaution than anything else, because there might be more violence in later chapters - I don't know, since I haven't written them yet. Rest assured that this story will never constitute an M-rating, though - I myself am only thirteen years old and will definitely not pt anything like _that _in my writing, at least not until I'm much older.**

**Prologue**

Harry Potter really hated his life. At the moment, he was squashed up in the backseat of his Uncle Vernon's car, alongside his pig of a cousin Dudley and a pile of luggage. Needless to say, it was not a hell of a lot of fun.

Any normal ten-year-old boy, you see, would be ecstatic to discover that because of a move; nearly half of a school year would be spent at home. _Dudley, _who couldn't do anything academic to save his life,was certainly happy about the fact that his parents, Petunia and Vernon Dursley, had decided to wait the half-year until their 'precious son' (Dudley) and 'the freak/boy' (Harry) started high school before enrolling them at a school (or 'worthless institution'). Harry, however, would have much preferred being at a 'worthless institution' than being stuck at home with the pig (Dudley), the giraffe (Petunia), and the hippo (Vernon).

Why was Harry living with his aunt and uncle, one might ask? Well, Harry was an orphan – an orphan who knew nothing about his parents other than their names (Lily and James Potter) and how long _he _had been with them (until he was one). His 'family' (more like owners) treated him like at worst, dirt, or at best, a servant – so from that Harry was able to gather one more thing about his parents, or more specifically, his mother – Petunia hadn't liked her sister very much.

Harry wasn't informed of much else either, or at least around the Dursleys. At school he knew lots, seeing as his teachers, or at least his _former_ teachers, were the only ones who had ever liked him. But here with the Dursleys, all Harry knew about the move was the _why_ and the _where_ – they were moving because Grunnings, the drill company where Uncle Vernon worked, had transferred him to the branch of Grunnings at Ottery St. Catchpole. Harry really wasn't looking forward to it – the one and only good thing about the move was the fact that the stairs at the new place didn't have a cupboard – Harry's bedroom at their old house in Little Whinging had been a cupboard under the stairs. At least he would have a bedroom.

Harry had been so absorbed in his thoughts that he hadn't even noticed the fact that they were there until the car had already stopped. "Out, boy," Harry's uncle said roughly, pulling Harry out of the car by the scruff of his neck. Harry hurried into the new house with an armload of heavy luggage so as to try and escape more verbal punishment (and manhandling).

Harry struggled to sleep that night. He had been disappointed (though he knew better than to show it) to find that his new 'bedroom' was actually supposed to be a study, and was so small that it might as well have been a cupboard under the stairs. The house was a three-bedroom house – why couldn't he have the third bedroom? It wasn't _too _big, but it would certainly be better than this. Sighing, he turned over and tried again, in vain, to fall asleep on his flimsy single mattress.

"Up! Boy, get up!" was what Harry woke up to the next morning. His Aunt Petunia was calling him to get up and make the breakfast. At least she wasn't tapping on the door. _That_ was infuriating.

Mumbling incoherently to himself, Harry dressed quickly and, blinking sleep out of his eyes, hurried down the stairs to make breakfast.

Harry rushed out the door as soon as there was a break in his chores. Moving had upped the quantity of said inconveniences, and though he knew that he would be in for a beating (verbalized, of course – the Dursleys had never gone so far as to physically hit him) when he got back, slipping away for even an hour was worth it. Although, Harry realized as he broke into a run, he had nowhere to go. There was a weeping-tree at the park in Little Whinging, and that had been his sanctuary, but he would have to find a new place to call his now.

Soon, the jogging Harry found a lake that was incredibly calming and peaceful. The water's edge was lined with trees, and Harry thought that it would be good to find a tree like the weeping-tree in Surrey to make his sanctuary. Glancing around, his eyes probing the colourful thicket of trees in a contemplative search, he found the perfect tree!

But once he started rushing towards the tree, he realized that someone else had already claimed it as their own sanctuary. And that someone was the most beautiful girl Harry had ever seen.

She was about Harry's age, give or take a year or so, and had soft, wavy hair that tumbled in loose curls all the way down her back, hair that was the prettiest shade of scarlet that Harry had ever seen. Her skin was lightly freckled and sun-browned, and her body was slight and slender. She held some kind of book – a diary, perhaps? – and was writing in it with some kind of strange, plumed red-and-gold feather. Her eyes, almost hidden by a lock of that soft scarlet hair, were cast down upon the book. It was only when Harry got closer that he noticed what colour they were – a warm, chocolate brown. They were amazingly filled with all different emotions – laughter, mischief, happiness, innocence, but underneath it all there was an underlying, but clearly present, hint of loneliness.

Excitement filled Harry up to the core. Could this girl be like him – friendless, alone? Could Harry possibly become_ friends_ with her?

As soon as Harry thought this, his dismissed his initial wonderings. He had never had a friend before – everybody thought he was strange, weird, odd. This girl would be no different – he was sure of it.

However, just as he thought this, words seemed to force their way out of Harry's mouth, apparently of their own accord. He heard himself speak as though it were a stranger talking – "Hello, what's your name?"

The girl looked up, startled. Harry cursed himself for being so – what was the word? Mysterious? Sudden? Yes, that was it. Sudden. The poor girl clearly had no idea how long he had been watching her – for all she knew, he could have been staring at her for hours – given that she had been there for hours, of course.

"Wh-who are you?" she said, the look of shock in her deer-caught-in-headlights-like eyes changing swiftly and suddenly to suspicion. "Explain yourself."

Harry restrained a grin with difficulty, for reasons he was completely unaware of. This girl was so – _feisty. _And it was with a complete loss of control of his tongue that he responded, "My name's Harry. Now, to repeat my question, what's _your_ name?"

The girl's eyes were still suspicious. "I'm smart enough not to divulge things like that to complete strangers, thanks. And _don't_ say you're _not_ a stranger because you've told me your name. I'd want to know someone for more than five seconds before I told them my name, all blasé without a care in the world. It's a dangerous world." She folded her arms defiantly.

This time, he really _did_ smile, for a reason again unclear to him. _Why_ was this girl so different from the others? _Why_ was she so unlike the girls from his old school back at Surrey?

Ottery St. Catchpole was definitely a strange town, Harry mentally decided. Suddenly aware that this curious girl was awaiting his reply, Harry decided this time to hold his tongue and keep control of what he said.

Weighing his words carefully, he finally responded with, "I _promise _I mean you no harm. My full name's Harry Potter." He tried to convey as much genuineness through his tone of voice and his eyes as he could.

For some again unknown reason – God, was he getting tired of these constant unknown reasons! – the unique girl began coughing violently when he said this. Finally, when her coughing fit subsided, the girl spoke, this time with apology laced through her words.

"I'm _really_ sorry," she said sincerely. "My name's Ginny – Ginevra, really, but I hate that name – and my last name's Weasley." Harry was clueless as to what he had said to cause this sudden change of tone which had seemingly come from nowhere. He was getting quite fed up with not knowing anything. Apart from her name, this girl truly was a mystery.

He didn't know why, but Harry felt drawn to this – this Ginny. Everything about her was, at least in his eyes (and from the little that he knew), perfect. He was seized by a sudden, mad desire to be her friend. So it was with a complete lack of muscle control that he flopped down beside her, putting his back to the tree trunk and shifting so that as little tree roots poked into his backside as possible, which was surprisingly easier than it looked due to the soft moss that cushioned them.

Ginny's eyes widened in surprise, but Harry took no notice – or at least, he _pretended_ to take no notice. Taking extra care not to blurt anything extra out, Harry asked her, "What are you doing here?" He was careful to soften his words so as not to appear too blunt. He was, for some unknown reason, desperate not only for a friend, but for Ginny especially to be that friend. Now acutely aware of this strange desire, he vowed then and there, on the spot, to turn over a new leaf here at Ottery St. Catchpole.

"I'm… I, um…" Ginny looked reluctant to tell him why she was here at the weeping-tree. The question had the clear potential to be tactless – Harry only just realized this after he had foolishly spoken the words. He chided himself for being so stupid – at first he hadn't thought the question to be a personal one, but he really didn't know anything about Ginny or her life – she could be here mourning somebody's death or something.

Finally, after an awkward and rather pregnant pause, Ginny began talking again, albeit in a quiet voice. "I'm here to get away from my brothers. I'm a lot younger than them as well as being the only girl. They exclude me all the time." Ginny blushed as soon as she said this.

Harry felt a surge of sympathy for the poor girl, followed by a feeling of immense elation. If she was telling him things as private- and personal-seeming as this, did that mean that she was his friend?

"I – I'm sorry to burden you," Ginny said hurriedly.

"No, no, that's perfectly alright," Harry exclaimed, his voice rushed a little from his haste to get rid of the awkwardness. There was another lull in the half-conversation, but this time it wasn't as awkward and heavy as before. It was more pleasant, for the both of them knew, somehow, without a clue in the world as to how they knew, that they had just made their first friend.

For the rest of the day the duo talked, just talking, happily aware of their first ever friendship. Sometimes they would talk about morose things, like Harry's life with the Dursleys and how Ginny always felt excluded from her six brothers, and other times they talked about lighter things, things that they could talk freely about without their voices hitching with sadness or shame. They didn't even retreat back to their separate houses for lunch – the giddy feeling inside the both of them was sustainment enough.

Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley had just made their first friends respectively.

Little did they know that just the next day they would become far more than friends.

**-- -- --**

Ginny felt like she was floating on air as she raced home from her talk with Harry. She had a _friend! _A real _friend! _And to top things off, her first ever friend was _Harry Potter,_ the Boy Who Lived, the boy who she had demanded of her father to tell the story of every night! True, she hadn't heard his story since she was four, but _still!_

Ginny had been rather let down by the discovery that, as far as she knew, Harry didn't know anything about magic. True, he _could _have been pretending he didn't know because he thought _she_ was a muggle, but if he knew about magic, wouldn't he know that she was a witch by her last name? Before she knew it, Ginny had found her way home.

Banging through the front door to the Burrow, Ginny rushed straight to the kitchen where her mother was making dinner – a Sunday roast. She skipped past the dining table to see her mother with her back to Ginny, sprinkling rosemary and garlic on the roast chicken and baked potatoes. "Mum!" she cried. "You'll _never_ guess what I've been doing today!"

Mrs. Weasley turned around so fast that she knocked over the packet of herbs. _"Ginny!_ Where on _earth_ have you _been?!"_ Damn it, Ginny thought. I forgot I didn't come back for lunch. Mum's going to have a seizure!

"I was in the woods, Mum. Next to the lake. I made a _friend!"_ Ginny said, ecstatically.

Mrs. Weasley, who looked half-mad with worry, visibly relaxed. Her eyes softening, she said, voice still cross, "Well that's lovely Ginny dear, but you must be _starving!"_

Ginny glanced up into her mother's eyes, suddenly saddened by the fact that Harry was probably sitting miserably at the kitchen table at that moment, chewing morosely on some sort of salad. _He_ wouldn't be getting fussed over like she was. Finally realizing that her mother was waiting on a reply, Ginny said softly, "No, I'm not very hungry."

Mrs. Weasley's eyes took on a worried look. "Do you know your friend's name?"

Ginny paused, wondering whether to tell her mother about Harry. Finally deciding that it couldn't hurt, Ginny spoke in a much lighter tone that reflected her happiness, "He's Harry Potter!"

Mrs. Weasley's eyes changed swiftly from apprehension to disbelief before finally flooding with suspicion. "Are you _sure?"_ she asked, her voice barely audible due to the worry in it. Not knowing what her mother was getting at, Ginny nodded. "Positive."

**-- -- --**

Dinner that night was an awkward affair. If Percy, Ron, Fred and George noticed anything, they didn't comment on it. Ginny was worried. The air was thick with tension, and she didn't know why. It wasn't as if the Harry she had talked to was one of You-Know-Who's followers following in his footsteps or something.

Ginny choked on her mouthful of roast vegetables. That was _exactly_ what her mother thought he was! Shaking her head with this sudden realization, Ginny resolved to tell her mother that she was positive that her new friend really _was_ Harry.

Unfortunately, Ginny didn't get the chance. Mrs. Weasley hurried all her kids to bed straight after dinner, something she only did when she was worried about something. Ginny couldn't get a word in edgewise before she was hustled into her ground-floor bedroom.

Sighing, Ginny decided that no matter _what_ her mother thought, she would sneak off in the morning to talk to Harry after making her _own_ breakfast. _Nothing_ would stop her from forging this friendship.

Molly Weasley was worried. _Very_ worried. Firstly her youngest and only daughter didn't come home for lunch – Ginny always had a _huge _appetite that could rival her brothers', and _that _was saying something! Then she_ did_ come home for dinner, babbling on about a new friend! Of course, Molly was ecstatic about the fact that her daughter had a friend – she rarely made friends, and was quite shy when it came to people other than family (around her brothers she was the exact _opposite_ of shy – _intimidating_ was more like it!) But when she had pronounced her friend to be the legendary Harry Potter, Molly had become worried. Didn't Harry Potter live in Surrey? If this was so, how did he get here, then? Unless…

Unless this 'Harry Potter' was an imposter. An imposter who could mean Ginny, and perhaps their whole _family,_ harm. _That_ was why Molly was worried.

She needed to see Dumbledore.

Rushing to the fireplace, Molly grabbed a pinch of Floo powder. Calling a quick goodbye to Arthur, she whipped out her wand and announced, "Incendio!" Crackling flames leapt up from the hearth.

Stepping into these flames, Molly took a deep breath, tucked in her elbows and shouted, "The Headmaster's Office, Hogwarts!" She tossed the Floo powder around her in a grey flurry.

Catching glimpses of random wizarding rooms connected to the Floo network, Molly finally shot out of one of the fireplaces and looked up to see an elegant, eloquent red-and-gold-plumed bird – Fawkes, Albus Dumbledore's phoenix. A moment later, the white-bearded man himself was peering down at her through his half-moon spectacles. "Ah, Molly," he said. "To what do I owe you this late-night pleasure?"

Molly picked herself quickly up off the floor, dusting off the ash from her clothes as discreetly as she could. "I wanted to ask you something about Harry Potter," she said clearly.

"Ah, yes. Harry. I was wondering when you would come to see me about him." _Why_ did Albus Dumbledore seem to know everything you were about to say before you said it? _Why?_

"Yes. Um… well, I was wondering where Harry lived at the moment," said Molly uneasily. "Could you tell me?"

Albus' blue eyes twinkled merrily. "Yes. Harry has now moved into Ottery St. Catchpole now. Just on the other side of that lake and the forest around it, I believe." That All-Knowing voice could really get on your nerves sometimes, Molly thought, annoyed.

"Yes, well… Why exactly _did _he move? And why to Ottery St. Catchpole?"

"I do believe that Harry's uncle has been transferred to the branch of his company at Ottery St. Catchpole," said Albus evasively. He really knew how to avoid the things one wanted to know.

"Did you move Harry there on purpose?" asked Molly, her annoyance showing in her voice now.

"I certainly did not intervene. When I discovered that the Dursleys were moving I thought it best to leave Fate to its own devices." Albus' eyes were twinkling again.

There was a short silence in the Headmasters' Office at Hogwarts. Fawkes broke the silence with a loud, musical trill. Finally Albus asked, "Why did you want to know?"

Molly paused. She was pretty sure Dumbledore knew exactly why she had asked, but all the same she said resignedly, "Harry and Ginny have made friends with each other. I came because I was worried about whether or not it was really Harry and not some ex-Death Eater."

Albus nodded thoughtfully. "Well, have a good night," he said, eyes resuming their merry twinkle. Taking herself to be dismissed, Molly Flooed through the fireplace without a backwards glance.

**-- -- --**

Ginny woke up early the next morning. Stretching, she jumped out of bed and dressed quickly and swiftly into a pair of Muggle jeans and a T-shirt with a water-lily on the front. It was her favourite outfit. Hurrying out of her room, she tiptoed over to the fridge and took out a tub of yoghurt.

"What do you think you're doing, young lady?" snapped Mrs. Weasley. Ginny spun around guiltily, the spoon she had retrieved from the cupboard clanking onto the tiled floor.

"I-I was just getting myself some breakfast," she lied pathetically. Even as she spoke she knew the lie was a bad one. She _never_ got herself breakfast unless she was planning on sneaking away… which she _was._ She might as well have confessed to her plan of sneaking out!

"Hmph," said Mrs. Weasley. "Of course you were." Her voice was sarcastic.

After a few moments of awkward silence, Mrs. Weasley's eyes softened and she said, "I saw Dumbledore last night." Ginny silently groaned. Now her mother would tell her not to go and see Harry… but she'd promised! What was she going to do?

"Relax," Mrs. Weasley said soothingly. "Albus said that Harry really _had_ moved here. He didn't seem too surprised that the two of you had made friends, actually. I_ suppose_ you can go." The yoghurt lay forgotten on the kitchen bench as a surprised but delighted Ginny ran up to her mother and threw her arms around her.

"Oh thank you thank you _thank you!"_ she squealed.

Three sausages, two bacon-and-egg muffins and a glass of orange juice later, Ginny ran out the door with an over-the-shoulder goodbye to her mother, father and Percy, the only ones up. Despite the intoxicating smell of the delicious breakfast, Fred, George and Ron remained in their deep slumber. Ginny was in so much of a rush that she even forgot to bring the diary and quill that she had been using when Harry had found her. Damn it, she thought as she ran at top speed through the woods by the lakeside. What am I going to do to pass the time before he comes?

It turned out that Ginny didn't need to worry. Harry was already leaning against the old weeping-tree when she arrived.

"Harry!" she called delightedly.

Harry, who had been disappointedly twiddling his thumbs before Ginny had arrived, looked up when she called straight away.

"Ginny!" he yelled, delighted. "I thought you weren't going to come!" She looks just as pretty as always, thought Harry as she raced up. I'm so glad she ended up coming.

Harry really had thought that Ginny wouldn't come back. Last night and this morning had been dreadful for him.

As soon as he had arrived back at the Dursleys', Harry had been screamed at for an hour straight because he had 'Not reported back to him' (it was the hippo speaking) 'as soon as he had finished his set chores to get some more.' After that he had been given a measly dinner of bread and cheese which was hardly a sufficient dinner, let alone a replacement for his missed midday meal. After another hour of unpacking (with him doing the worst jobs like heaving the T.V. out of its box and setting up the entertainment unit) he had finally been allowed the 'privilege' of going to bed.

Harry had slept fitfully that night. Tossing and turning, a dream had convinced him that Ginny would not come the next morning, although she had promised. So it was rather demurely that Harry had returned to the weeping-tree the next morning after a rather pathetic breakfast of half a bowl of cornflakes.

So you van imagine Harry's delight when Ginny called out to him after about an hour of thumb-twiddling!

Harry and Ginny enjoyed another morning of talking, with the both of them recounting yesterday afternoon to this morning (when they had parted to when they reunited, with Ginny leaving out the bit about Dumbledore and her mother). Before they knew it, it was lunchtime.

"Hey, Harry," said Ginny. "Do you want to come to my place for lunch? I'm sure my mother wouldn't mind."

Harry was ecstatic! Only one-and-a-half days into the friendship and he was invited to Ginny's house for lunch! Deliriously happy, Harry quickly agreed to Ginny's offer, and soon the duo arrived at the Burrow.

"Well, who might you be, dear?" asked Molly Weasley. Of course, she knew who the poor orphaned boy was, but preferred to be polite and ask him his name.

"I'm… I'm Harry Potter," said Harry nervously.

Mrs. Weasley smiled, saying, "Well, come in, dear, and I'll get you some lunch."

Harry was dumbfounded._ Never_ had an adult been this… well, this _motherly_ to him. Sure, his school teachers had been kind, but not like this. He decided that he rather liked the change.

Though Harry didn't know it and Ginny only suspected, when Mrs. Weasley left to 'pick some vegetables' she was really warning her four present sons not to recognize him and to pretend they were Muggles.

The lunch meal that Mrs. Weasley prepared for her five present children and Harry was like nothing Harry had ever tasted before. It was, to put it simply, _delicious._ The meal consisted of vegetables, pork chops and a rich brown gravy, and was a far cry form the measly sandwiches or salads that his midday meal usually consisted of. Harry couldn't stop stammering his thanks as he and Ginny left, albeit after Harry making semi-friends with Ron and the twins (he found that Percy got on his nerves).

However, this delight was short-lived – actually, no. That wasn't right. His _consciousness _was what was short-lived.

For on the way back to the weeping-tree, Ginny tripped over a tree-root. And instinctively, Harry's arms snaked out and wrapped around her waist.

It was the first time they had touched.

The first time they touched, everything went black.

**-- -- --**

The moon was rising when Molly decided it was high time for her to bring Ginny home. It was getting _dark_ out, for heavens' sakes! What did the girl think she was _doing?_

Pulling on her boots, Molly trudged through the dirt, following the two sets of footprints that would logically be Ginny's and Harry's. Both footprints were small, though one set was bigger than the other, and the smaller set of footprints was heavier. That made perfect sense – the footprints of a nine- and ten-year-old would be small, but Harry as the elder boy would have bigger feet, yet Ginny walked rather heavily, so her footprints would be deeper. Molly knew the last part because whenever Ginny got up during the night, her footprints could be heard from all the way up in the attic.

Molly was resigned to following these footprints due to the fact that she had no idea where in the forest the duo could be. However, she was glad she hadn't known, because otherwise she would have gone straight there and therefore missed seeing the…

The unconscious bodies of her daughter and Harry Potter.

Molly ran back to the Burrow at top speed. As soon as she got there, the first thing she did was look straight up at the family clock.

"Oh, thank goodness!" she said, relieved (though only momentarily). Arthur's hand pointed to 'Home.' At the moment, Molly Weasley, the woman who rarely lost her cool, was losing it… and fast. She didn't know what to do. Her baby was unconscious!

"Molly! What's wrong?" asked Arthur worriedly. He had been told about Ginny and her new friend, Harry Potter. _Nothing,_ however, could have prepared him for what his wife was telling him now.

"She's _what?!"_ Arthur roared.

"Un-unconscious," Molly repeated, sniffling. "I d-don't know wh-what to _do!"_

"Get Albus," said Arthur tersely.

And 'get Albus' they did.

_Harry and Ginny stood in some kind of peaceful, serene grove. The air was perfumed with the scent of wildberries, and lush, glossy ferns permeated the gleaming golden sunlight._

"_Where _are _we?" gasped Harry. "What is this?"_

_Ginny, however, looked worried. She had a feeling that she knew where they were, and if she was right…_

_She would have to tell Harry about wizards. _

_Sighing, Ginny realized that she was resigned to the Fate of telling Harry. She just hoped that she wouldn't have to say anything about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named._

"Who_ must not be named?" asked Harry, confused. _

_She was right, then. They really_ were_ inside each others' minds. A small part of her had still been hoping that she was wrong. _

"_I didn't say anything," Ginny sighed. _

_Harry turned to her. "You know something I don't," he said, half-accusing, half-curious. "What is it?"_

_Sighing for what felt like the thirtieth time in their minds, Ginny answered, "Yes. We are in each others' minds."_

_Harry gasped. "That's not possible," he said. _

"_It is," Ginny answered. "There's something I've been keeping from you." It tore her up inside to see the look of hurt on Harry's face right then. "I had no choice _but_ to keep it from you. You see, Harry… you and me, and all my family, _and_ your mum and dad, and others as well… we're wizards. Witches and wizards."_

"What?!"_ gasped Harry. "That really_ is_ impossible!"_

"_No it's not," Ginny sighed. "We really are… I wouldn't lie to you… you know that, don't you." It was a statement, not a question. _

_Harry looked at her, considering her. Finally, he said, "You're telling the truth…" He looked shocked. "How do I know that? How do I _know_ you're telling the truth?" Their eyes met. _

_Slowly, resignedly, Ginny began to explain the _real_ story of how Harry's parents died. She finished up with, "I still don't know how we're doing this, though." They were silent for a moment._

"_We're dreaming," said Harry finally. "But it's real. We're talking to each other in our dreams." Ginny nodded in confirmation. _

_They were silent for a while, staring at the mysterious grove. Then, suddenly, everything started to fade away… except each other. "We're waking up!" yelled Harry. And then…_

Colour flooded back into everything.

Harry and Ginny woke up on the biggest lounge at Ginny's house, surprisingly intertwined in a position rather unsuitable for a nine- and a ten-year-old - Harry's arms were wrapped around Ginny's stomach. Harry tried to unravel himself, only to find that his muscles were too slack to move without a stabbing pain.

"Wh-wha'ss goin'on," Ginny mumbled, her voice slurred slightly.

Harry glanced up to see, much to his shock, a strange man with a long silver beard and hair to match. The man had twinkling blue eyes that peered down at Ginny and he curiously through half-moon spectacles. _Who the hell is he? _thought Harry sleepily.

_That's Albus Dumbledore,_ a soft female voice answered.

_Ginny?_ Harry gasped, suddenly wide awake.

_Don't you remember our conversation? _asked Ginny, sounding somewhat amused.

Harry thought back quickly and suddenly remembered the strange dream he had had. _Oh my God, _he thought. _I'm a wizard! And you and me have this weird mind connection thing! _He was delighted.

"Harry Potter," said the silver-bearded man whose name was apparently Albus Dumbledore. "I suppose you're wondering who I am, why I am here, and what is going on… amongst other things." The man's voice was piercing and sharp, but kind.

Harry was about to say that he wasn't actually wondering about any of these things when Ginny's voice in his head said, _No, don't. If you say what you're about to say, they will want to find out about this mind-link thing. I want it to be our secret, okay? Please? _Harry shut his mouth and nodded. "Yeah, I'm… I'm wondering," he said quickly.

Albus Dumbledore's way of describing Voldemort (He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named) was very different to Ginny's explanation. He was a lot blunter about some details and seemed to want to avoid others. After an hour of pretending to listen to things he had heard before, Harry said, "It's almost sunrise. The Dursleys will go nuts when I get back." He was reluctant to say 'home', because now he didn't feel that the new, strange house was 'home'. 'Home' was wherever Ginny was.

"Don't worry," said Dumbledore. "I'm not a wizard for nothing." His eyes twinkled. "The Dursleys are under the impression that you have already returned home. Now, off you trot."

And off he trotted.

**-- -- --**

The next few months were delightful for Harry and Ginny. Both their birthdays came and went, and they discovered that, if there was enough peace on one end of their 'mind-link', as they had termed it, one of them could close their eyes and look through the other person's eyes, hearing, smelling, feeling and, if the other was eating, tasting too, whatever the other person could see, hear, smell, feel, and taste. They explored other areas of their 'mind-link' too, and soon realized that they could keep no secrets from each other.

Ginny was appalled at how the Dursleys treated him; whereas Harry was horrified at how often Ginny's four still-Hogwarts-aged brothers excluded her from everything. The 'mind-link', however, took their minds off all their other troubles, and things improved greatly for the both of them.

Another thing that they discovered about their 'mind-link' was that each night they had the option of whether to sleep normally or to reenter the odd grove in which they had first discovered their connection. They soon learned that sleep was to rest the body, not the mind, and they could stay in their 'dream-chamber', as they had termed these all night if so they wished and still wake up in the morning fresh and regenerated.

However, their bliss was short-lived. All too soon Harry had received his letter for Hogwarts, and now it was only the day before he left. The duo sat morosely at the weeping-tree, Harry's arm draped protectively over Ginny's shoulders.  
I can't believe I'm not going to see you for a whole year! cried Ginny.

I know, Harry said sympathetically. This mind-link better work long-distance.  
Oh, it will, said Ginny devilishly. Or I'll kill it.

You can't kill it! Harry laughed. Then it won't exist, you nincompoop.

Ginny pouted. Okay, here's my task while you're at Hogwarts. I'm going to convince Mum to let you come home with Ron for Christmas. She's already starting to love you like her own son.

Harry smiled. Your mum is so wonderful, he said. She's like my own mum the way she dotes on me. She's certainly the closest thing to a mum I've got.

But then you would be my brother! Ginny giggled. I've heard of these mind-link things before, but never between siblings! They both laughed.

The day ended all too soon.

**-- -- --**

Before they knew it, the next day had come around. Harry told the Dursleys that he would find his own way to King's Cross Station before running with his trunk-on-wheels trailing after him through the woods to the Burrow.

"Hello, Harry," said Mr. Weasley with a smile. "You've got your trunk, then? Good, good." Mr. Weasley took Harry's trunk from him to do God knows what with, and Harry gratefully rushed over to Ginny.

A few moments later, Harry discovered exactly how they were to get to King's Cross Station — Side-Along-Apparition. It seemed to simply be disappearing from one place and reappearing in another — but Harry soon discovered that it was quite different.

As you had to be 'of age' (seventeen) to Apparate by yourself, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley would be helping the six children along. Percy and Ron gripped an arm each of Mr. Weasley whereas he and Ginny held an arm each of Mrs. Weasley. Fred and George were staying behind — Mr. Weasley would be coming back for them.

Grasping his trunk with his free arm, Harry braced himself (for what he didn't know) but despite his tensed body and feeling of foreboding, he wasn't quite ready when Mrs. Weasley, and in turn he and Ginny too, disappeared with a loud and rather disconcerting pop.

It was the worst sensation of his life. Harry felt like he was being squeezed through a rubber tube that was way too tight; iron bands compressed his chest so that he could not breathe; his eyes were being pushed back into his skull; his mouth and nose were gravitationally forced closed; and he felt the rather peculiar sensation of something very hard and solid being wrapped around him, wrapped so tight that he could almost feel his skin being pushed back, stretched uncomfortably tight around his bones. And then —

And then it was all over. Eyes streaming, Harry gulped lungfuls of sweet spring air, enjoying the feeling of being able to move. Apparition could — and would — unnerve even the least claustrophobic of people. Rolling his shoulders and flexing his muscles, Harry let go of Mrs. Weasley's arm, slightly worried that he had cut off her circulation.

Ginny grinned at him. Not the most pleasant thing in the world, is it?  
I'll say, answered Harry. It's horrid.

They had Apparated behind a little haven of bushes across the road from King's Cross Station. Apparently it was a popular destination for families with Hogwarts-age kids on September the 1st, for Harry thought he saw a glimpse of a woman with two children as they left.

The platform was bustling with people. Some looked like ordinary Muggles, but others pushed trolleys laden with trunks and caged owls.

Harry, Ginny, and the others walked towards the wall between platforms nine and ten slowly and purposefully. When they finally arrived, it was six minutes to eleven. Percy and Ron went through the barrier side by side, followed by Fred and George. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley went next, leaving Harry and Ginny by themselves.

Grabbing Ginny's arm, Harry steered the two of them through the barrier, gasping when they finally went through — the sight was amazing! The Hogwarts Express was shiny and red, with gold writing on the front that read; 'Hogwarts Express'. The writing was a rather fancy script, but seemed to be peeling all the same. Families bustled around the platform busily, saying their tearful goodbyes.  
Though there was no need to continue holding Ginny's hand, Harry didn't let go. The tearful two boarded the train, Ginny helping Harry hoist his trunk up onto a shelf in one of the compartments.

Glancing out the window, Harry was shocked to find that it was one minute to eleven — they had one minute to say their farewells. Harry turned back to Ginny, who had seen the clock as well — he could tell. Wordlessly, without even saying anything through their mind link, Ginny threw her arms around Harry's waist, holding him tight. Then, glancing back only quickly, she tore out of the compartment, racing down the aisle and dodging everything she came across. Harry watched sadly as she departed. The train was just beginning to move when Ginny jumped off. Sighing, Harry turned around and sat on one of the seats in his compartment, feeling rather lonely all of a sudden.


	2. Beginning School

**Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling. If I was, this would be a book that you had paid to read, not a story posted on a fanfiction site. Are you paying to read this? No. This is because I do not own the world of Harry Potter, nor do I expect to make profit out of something that isn't mine. **

**Author's Note: Here's the next chapter. For those of you who have read the original "Core of Power' fic, you'll notice that there's a little something extra in there. This chappie can be seen on SIYE, but the computer was being mean when I tried to update it the last time - that or I just forgot about it. I only realised it wasn't on the site when I received numerous reviews, both positive and negative, about leaving out the Sorting. Oops. Well, now it's here, so I hope you like! **

**One - Beginning School**

One-and-a-half hours later, Harry and Ron sat playing a game of Exploding Snap (Ron's idea — and Ron's cards too, for that matter) and munching on a bunch of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans and Chocolate Frogs (Harry's idea, and Harry's money too — Ron had protested quite profoundly at this, so it had taken a while to convince him) among other wizarding snacks. Ginny was quite happy about this arrangement — she was currently at the weeping-tree, concentrating on him and therefore able to taste the food through him. They (Harry and Ron) were really getting into the game, and Harry also had more of a chance at beating Ron due to Ginny's constant providing of strategies and techniques, when…

"Will you have a look at this," drawled a familiar voice. Malfoy, an annoying and incessant boy who Harry had met at Madam Malkin's robe shop, now stood at the entrance to the compartment. "Why didn't you tell me you were Harry Potter?" Malfoy asked, sneering. This was directed at Harry, of course. When Malfoy and he had met at the robe store, Malfoy had asked a rather stupid and arrogant question; 'Your parents are our kind, aren't they?' Harry had been annoyed and offended at this — Ginny had told Harry about the mindless prejudice that 'pure-bloods' as they deemed themselves held against Muggles. Harry had been about to snap an angry retort at him when Ginny had told him, rather cleverly, to say; 'They were a witch and wizard, if that's what you mean.' This way Malfoy had no idea that Harry's mother had been a Muggleborn, making him a half-blood — Malfoy had (had being the key word, of course) been put under the impression that Harry was a pureblood. Bye-bye impressions, Harry thought bitterly.

One angry conversation with Malfoy involving one of his 'friends' (more like cronies) and a rather sharp-toothed rat (Ron's, who went by the name of Scabbers) later, Harry and Ron were talking to a worried boy named Neville and another girl who appeared to be his friend, Hermione. Neville was worried, it seemed, because his toad, Trevor, was missing.

"You'll find him, don't worry," said Harry sympathetically.

The hours on the train whizzed by before Harry and Ron (and Ginny) knew it. Before too long, they had arrived at Hogsmeade Station — they were almost there. And then…

"Firs' years! Firs' years over here!" called a… Harry's first thought was a giant, but straight after that Ginny dismissed it, saying, Hagrid's not a giant. Giants are at least twenty feet tall.

_Hagrid?_ asked Harry._ Who's… oh! That man. Forget I said anything._

_That's not likely,_ said Ginny with a snort. _I will hold you to your word on anything and everything, mister.  
_  
Hagrid turned out to be quite nice, if a bit roguish when it came to animals, and told them to get into boats on the side of the lake in groups of four. Hermione and Neville joined the boat in which Harry and Ron had gotten into, and off they sailed.

The first glimpse of Hogwarts was truly magnificent. Ginny, who was looking through his eyes, gave a muffled sort of squeal and fell silent — the first sign of behavior that betrayed her otherwise tomboyish nature. Harry stared at the magnificent, magnanimous white stone that rose in turrets, gleaming in the light of the glistening full moon. He couldn't — simply _couldn't_ — take his eyes off of it. It really was beautiful.

Nothing much else happened from then on in during the boat trip. When they got off, however, Neville found his toad; ("Trevor!"), and then…

A tall, magnificent set of elegant double doors swung open, with an irate, stern-looking woman looking down at them from the newly revealed steps. The woman revealed her name to be Professor McGonagall. Harry half-listened as she droned on about the four Houses — Ginny had told him all about them in one of their many mind-conversations — but became considerably more attentive when McGonagall led them through the Entrance Hall (Harry only knew what it was called because Ginny told him) and into the Great Hall (again, Ginny informed him of its name).

Four long trestle tables lined the magnificent (magnificent was a word Harry was beginning to associate with this castle — everything was magnificent) hall vertically. Several raised steps led onto a platform on the opposite side of the hall, upon which another trestle table, this one horizontal, was mounted. This was obviously the table for the staff.

The ceiling, charmed to look like the sky outside, reflected the star-strewn night. Candles floating in the midst of this sky illuminated the room. The left two tables formed a narrow aisle, as did the right two tables, but the widest aisle was between the middle two tables. At the top of this aisle was where all the nervous first-years congregated as they waited for instructions as to what to do.

Harry (and Hermione, it seemed) were the only two first years who noticed the three-legged stool on which a tattered hat sat. Did that have something to do with the Sorting?

Apparently it did, because:

_"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,  
But don't judge on what you see,  
I'll eat myself if you can find  
A smarter hat than me.  
You can keep your bowlers black,  
Your top hats sleek and tall,  
For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat  
And I can top them all.  
There's nothing hidden in your head  
The Sorting Hat can't see,  
So try me on and I will tell you  
Where you ought to be.  
You might belong in Gryffindor  
Where dwell the brave at heart,  
Their daring, nerve and chivalry  
Set Gryffindors apart.  
You might belong in Hufflepuff  
Where they are just and loyal,  
These patient Hufflepuffs are true  
And unafraid of toil.  
Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw  
If you've a ready mind,  
Where those of wit and learning  
Will always find their kind.  
Or perhaps in Slytherin  
You'll make your real friends,  
Those cunning folk use any means  
To achieve their ends.  
So put me on! Don't be afraid!  
And don't get in a flap!  
You're in safe hands (though I have none)  
For I'm a Thinking Cap!"  
_  
Harry's nerves mounted with every word the Sorting Hat sung. _What if I don't get Sorted?_ he asked Ginny nervously.

_Of course you'll get Sorted,_ Ginny said soothingly. _Everyone worries about whether they'll get Sorted or not, although some don't admit it. There isn't a Sorting recorded where someone couldn't be Housed. You'll be fine.  
_  
His nerves somewhat assuaged, Harry glanced around the rest of the room. All the other first-years didn't have someone like Ginny in their heads, and it showed by the nervous glances they were all casting around the Hall.

At that moment (and after allowing for the bout of applause, courtesy of the older students) Professor McGonagall began calling out the names of the first-years, in alphabetical order. Harry didn't pay much attention, other than noticing both Hermione, whose last name was Granger, and Neville, whose last name was Longbottom, both became Gryffindors. He also noticed that Malfoy (whose first name was Draco) and his two 'friends', Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, all became Slytherins. And _then…_

"Potter, Harry!" cried Professor McGonagall loudly. Ignoring the whispers that broke out throughout the Hall, Harry clambered nervously up the steps, pulling the hat over his head and sitting down rather roughly on the three-legged stool.

'Ah', said a voice in his head. 'Harry Potter'.

Harry jumped. He hadn't expected the hat to talk to him — that was Ginny's department!

The Hat continued, clearly oblivious to Harry's discomfort. 'But what's this?' it said, this time sounding genuinely curious. 'Harry Potter has another half? Ah, you are full of mysteries, my boy… come out, come out, other half…'

_Other half?_ Harry thought, confused. _What other half?_

The Sorting Hat made a sound that was clearly a laugh. Why, I believe her name is Ginevra. Come out, come out, Ginevra!

Harry gasped, and then Ginny said, _Um… hi, Sorting Hat._ Harry swallowed a laugh with difficulty.

'Now that I have you both here, I can sort you', the Hat announced. 'Now, let's see here… Lots of courage, yes, that you both have… And a nice thirst to prove yourselves that you both share also… Both of you have a ready mind and undeniable skill… There's loyalty, oh yes… And the mark of Voldemort…' at this, both Harry and Ginny gasped. 'Yes… that mark is Mr. Potter's, but your bond of the soul carries that over to Ms. Weasley as well… But will you look at this! You could go into all four houses! Never before have I come across anyone so like the two of you… A soul bond and a choice, all at once! I'll be looking out for you two…' Ginny gasped. _But… but no-one has a choice!_  
'And yet you do', said the Sorting Hat tiredly. 'Well, what'll it be, then?'

Harry and Ginny were silent. Then…  
_  
Harry, can we go into Gryffindor? It's just, all the Weasleys do normally and I know Mum and Dad'll be proud._ That was Ginny.

_Okay,_ said Harry. _I don't really have a preference anyway… Um, Sorting Hat? We... we choose Gryffindor.  
_  
Harry could actually feel the Sorting Hat smile as it yelled, "Gryffindor!" for the whole Hall to hear.  
_  
Well, that was confusing,_ said Ginny tiredly. _I've got to go back and have dinner now, so… I probably won't get to talk.  
_  
The rest of the Sorting was pretty boring, in Harry's opinion. Ron got Sorted into Gryffindor, but other than that…

The rest of the night was pretty boring too. Harry would have found the Welcoming Feast phenomenal had he not gotten used to Mrs. Weasley's delicious lunches, but gotten used to them he had, and though the meal was certainly scrumptious, it was not that much better than Mrs. Weasley's cooking.

After having stuffed himself to the brim, Harry and the rest of the first-year Gryffindors followed Ginny's brother Percy, who was apparently a Prefect, up to the Gryffindor common room.

The common room, hidden from intruders by a portrait of a Fat Lady who required a password (the current one being Caput Draconis), was quite a decorative haven. Tapestries of lions hung from the walls, which surrounded plush, red-and-gold embroidered armchairs that were clustered and grouped around fireplaces that crackled merrily with flames. Harry, however, barely noticed all this as he ascended one of two staircases. The one he climbed led to the boys' dormitories, whereas the other led to the girls'.

The dormitory that Harry, Ron, Neville, and the two other male Gryffindor first-years (Seamus Finnegan and Dean Thomas) would share was fairly plain, but homely all the same. Five four-poster beds with each boy's trunk set out at the foot of the bed that was their own were arranged at the sides of the room — two on either side wall and one on the wall directly in front. Harry didn't clearly notice any of this detail either as he and the four other boys climbed into bed (Harry and Ron on the beds towards the left, Seamus and Dean on the beds to the right, and Neville on the bed out front). Barely able to muster a 'Goodnight, Ginny', Harry fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

**-- -- --**

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was truly an extraordinary place – Harry discovered this within the first very few days. His first class was Transfiguration, and Harry learned straight away that magic definitely wasn't as easy as it looked.

"Transfiguration is a very complex and dangerous branch of magic," announced Professor McGonagall sternly once everyone was in their seats. "Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned."

She then showed the class something rather interesting – she changed her desk into a pig and back again. _(Cool! _Ginny had exclaimed when she did this).

However, Professor McGonagall soon made it clear that they would not under any circumstances be doing magic anywhere _near_ as complicated as that for a very long time and, in her book, it would be unwise to try. She first set the class to copying a lot of long and complex notes before telling them to try and turn a match into a needle.

Harry stared at the match, desperately trying the incantation _(Matchius Transformus), _but the match rather stubbornly stayed a match. _Try willing the match to turn into a needle first, _Ginny advised. _Visualize it changing in your head. _Then _cast the spell._

Harry did as she said – and it worked! Well, sort of, anyway. The needle was still rather blunt and was missing the loop, but it was definitely silvery and metallic! The only person who accomplished as much as he did was Hermione.

Charms was the second class they had. Professor Flitwick, the teacher, was so small that he had to stand on top of a stack of books to see over his desk. He, too, set them too copying down some complex notes before allowing them to try a practical spell _(Wingardium Leviosa, _which was a levitating charm – they had to attempt to levitate a feather). Harry only succeeded in lifting the feather four inches (with the help and guidance of Ginny) whereas Hermione levitated hers two whole metres. (The rest of the class failed miserably).

The class that was by far the most boring was History of Magic – the teacher, Professor Binns, was the only ghost teacher at Hogwarts, but the only grain of excitement in his class was him floating through the blackboard as an entrance. The rest of the class was so boring that half the students fell asleep. Binns droned on about things that had the potential to be exciting, but instantly turned boring when he said them.

These two classes, along with Defense Against the Dark Arts, were _supposed _to be the only three classes where you performed practical magic – Professor Quirrell, the DADA teacher, seemed to be a bit of a joke. Quirrell wore a strange purple turban around his head, and that, along with the entire classroom, smelled strongly of garlic. Quirrell also seemed to have a strange sort of stutter whenever he even _mentioned_ anything even _remotely _dark. The class often joked that the classroom had a layer of garlic on everything and the turban was stuffed full of garlic to ward off vampires.

Astronomy, the class where you studied the stars, was another class. It was held on Wednesdays at the stroke of midnight, and you had to peer through telescopes to identify the positions of stars.

Herbology was the study of plants. It was held three times a week in one of the three side-by-side greenhouses out on the school grounds. Professor Sprout, the dumpy little witch who was their teacher, taught them all about strange magical plants and fungi.

But by far Harry's least favourite class was Potions. And it had nothing to do with the subject.

It was the teacher, Professor Snape. He, for no seemingly apparent reason, _hated _Harry.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of Potion-making," he began the class with. After droning on for what seemed like hours, he then proceeded to take the register.

"Ah… _Harry Potter,"_ said Snape once he got to Harry's name. "Our new… _celebrity."_ The Slytherins in the class all sniggered.

"Potter!" Snape suddenly snapped. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

_Powdered root of what to an infusion of what? _Harry thought. On the other end of his mind-link, he could hear Ginny, who was making some sort of pie with her mother, asking Mrs. Weasley the question. A moment later she said, _The Draught of Living Death. _

"You would get the Draught of Living Death, sir," said Harry.

Looking annoyed, the greasy-haired teacher sneered, "And where would you look if I asked you to find a bezoar?"

Again, Harry repeated the question to Ginny, who replied with, _In the stomach of a goat. A bezoar is an antidote to most poisons._

Harry repeated this to Snape as politely as he could, who shot back with, "What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

This time, when Harry answered with, "They are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite," Snape looked livid.

"You cheat!" he cried. "One point from Gryffindor!"

Ginny had a lot to say about this, but the number of creative insults she came up with did nothing to assuage Harry's anger. _That's totally unfair! _Harry thought, over the top of, _Greasy, smelly git! Go get some shampoo! _

Snape then set the class to brewing a simple potion to cure boils. They had to work in pairs, so Harry and Ron set up a cauldron beside Neville and Seamus. Then, halfway into the class…

"Ouch!" cried Neville. Somehow, he had managed to twist the cauldron that he and Seamus were using into a hissing blob, and the potion was now seeping along the floor. People jumped up on chairs and tables to avoid the flow, but Neville, who had been standing right in the cauldron's line of fire, caught a faceful of the potion. Angry red boils popped up on his face.

"Idiot boy!" Snape snapped. "Didn't I _tell _you all not to add the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?" And then, after he had sent Neville, with Seamus escorting him, off to the hospital wing in disgrace, he rounded on Harry and Ron.

"Why didn't you two stop him? Another point from Gryffindor!" the greasy git snapped. Harry opened his mouth in horror to argue, but Ginny gave him the equivalent of a mental kick, saying, _You'll only get into even more trouble if you try to rebuttal him! _

As the class filed out of the dungeons (the Gryffindors miserably and the Slytherins gleefully), Ron said, "Cheer up, mate! Snape's taken off loads more than two points of Fred and George!"

At lunch Harry received a note from Hagrid, whom he had gotten to know quite well at Hogsmeade Station, asking if they (Harry and Ron) would join him for afternoon tea. Harry borrowed a quill of Ron's to scribble his affirmative answer, and the two walked cheerfully down to Hagrid's.

After a chat with Hagrid that revealed a suspicious-looking article about a Gringotts (wizarding bank) break-in), Harry 'escaped' from Ron and the other Gryffindors during the rest of their free period to take a detour to the library. Why? Because he and Ginny wanted to look up more about their 'mind-link' (or soul bond, as the Sorting Hat put it).

_Where do I look? _asked Harry blankly. _The library's so __big._

_Try asking the librarian, _Ginny suggested helpfully. _Make sure to act inconspicuously, though – we don't want anyone suspecting anything! _Harry agreed fervently with that.

"Um, excuse me?" Harry asked the scary-looking librarian. "Do you… do you have a categorizing system or something?"

_Good idea, _Ginny approved.

Madam Pince glared at him. "Yes," she said finally. "Over there." She pointed to the place she referred to.

After looking at the categorizing system carefully, Harry discovered the books he was looking for in an auspicious-looking, dark, dusty corner of the book haven. It was straight out of a movie, but Harry supposed that the books he was looking for _would _be dusty and in a dark corner, because people would rarely look at them. Harry selected a few informative-looking books that had the most specific tiles and walked over to a deserted armchair where he wasn't likely to be disturbed.

_Okay, _he said. _Here's the first one – 'Soul Bonds and Other Relevant Information'. _He flicked through the fragile pages, looking for something that might be helpful.

_Aha! _he thought. _Here we go. Ginny, read through my eyes. _

_Alright, _she said. _What've you found, then?_

_**19: Soul Bonds **_

_**Soul bonds, or soul links as they are more like, are incredibly rare. These are where true soul mates discover their bond, and its rarity is due to the fact that soul mates, though everybody has one, can live on opposite sides of the world, can be between Muggles and magical folk alike, and most people never meet their soul mate. A soul bond occurs when soul mates experience skin-to-skin physical contact. A soul bond involves the option of sharing dreams, the ability to communicate through the mind, feeling the others' senses and emotions, sharing all physical and magical skills, etc. A soul bond between a Muggle and a witch/wizard can even give that Muggle magical prowess, the same going for a Squib. During the first two to three years of the bond, a soul-bonded pair can be separated for up to twelve months without harm, but either after this time period or if something traumatic affects the pair, they must stay close without separating for more than two hours then they fall ill physically as well as mentally and emotionally. After one to four years (depending on the age of the soul mates, the older the longer) of this time period, which is deemed the 'second stage' of the bond, this need will disappear. If the 'other half' as it is deemed of a soul-bonded pair dies, it is said that the living 'half' cannot bear life anymore. The longest known 'life-before-suicide' after the death of a soul-bonded person's other half is 26 hours. If the bond is strong enough, it can even cause instantaneous death. **_

_**Another side-effect of a soul-bond is immediate legal marriage. Marriage through soul-bonding instantly cancels out any previous betrothals. As underage marriage causes instant removal of the Trace as well as instant rewarding of all of-age privileges, a soul-bond would, it is assumed, cause this as well, but there are no underage soul-bonds recorded (at least before this book is published) to go by on that.**_

_Wow, _Harry thought finally. _Um, Ginny? _

_Yeah? _she asked.

_You were reading that, weren't you?_

_Yes, _Ginny answered.

_Then you do realize that this means technically we're married, don't you? _Harry said.

There was a silence on the other end of the soul bond. Then –

A stream of disbelieving curses shot through the bond, and Ginny replied, _Um… no offence to you or anything, but… __Married?__ At the age of __ten?__ You have __got__ to be joking. _

_Nope,_ said Harry. _Read it yourself. _He looked directly down at the book so that she could read it for herself, and felt his eyes wobble awkwardly as she moved her eyes while he didn't.

**-- -- --**

Saturday was the day that marked the first flying lesson for the Gryffindors and the Slytherins. It was also, while Harry didn't know it at the time, the day that would mark his first two one-ups on Malfoy.

At breakfast that morning Hermione was trying desperately to find something in a library book – _Quidditch through the Ages _– that would help her have more luck on a broom. Quidditch wasn't something you could learn from a book, which was Hermione's specialty, so the only one who listened to her spouting out facts about broom inventions and flying strategies was Neville, who hung onto her every word, desperate for something to help him hang onto his broomstick later. As Hermione read excerpts of the Quidditch book to him, a parcel arrived for Neville.

"It's a Remembrall!" announced Neville of the little glass ball inside the parcel. "It glows red if you've forgotten something." He paused, watching the ball glow red. "I can't remember what I've forgotten."

At ten o'clock precisely, all the Gryffindor and Slytherin first-years filed out of the doors to the Entrance Hall and onto the Quidditch Pitch out on the grounds. Madam Hooch, the grey-haired Quidditch teacher/referee, stood waiting for them all with two rows of neatly laid-out broomsticks evenly spaced out in the middle of the pitch. She stood directly between the two rows of broomsticks.

"Well, come on, hurry up," she said. "Everyone stand by a broomstick. What are you waiting for?" There was a scramble as everyone tried to do as Madam Hooch said.

Harry glanced down at his broomstick. It was old and battered-looking, with the twigs at the bottom sticking out in all directions. _Fred and George said that all the school broomsticks are really crappy, _Ginny informed him. _They said that they all fly towards the left a bit or start to vibrate if you get too high. Fred even thinks they're charmed to do the latter. Then again, they could be joking. Fred and George are always pranking people. _

"Alright, everyone got a broom? Now, stick your wand hand over the broomstick and say, 'Up'.

"Up!" the class shouted.

Harry's broomstick jumped into his hand at once, but nobody else's, not even Malfoy's (who had claimed he was a flying champion) did. Hermione's simply rolled over on the ground, Neville's didn't move at all, and Malfoy's flew up past his hand to hit him on the face.

"Tut, tut," tutted Madam Hooch as she walked around, correcting people's grips and showing them how to mount them properly. "Now, on my count of three, everybody push off together, rise two feet off the ground and come straight back down. Three… two…"

But Neville, jumpy, frightened and worried of being left behind, pushed off one count before Madam Hooch's whistle. A horrified look on his face, Neville shot upwards like a cork out of a bottle, twelve feet… twenty feet…

"Come back down, boy!" shrieked Madam Hooch.

And it was only then that Neville came down… but it was without his broomstick that he did. He shot forward, over the front of his broomstick, and landed with an almighty _thud _and an ominous crack on the rippling grass.

Madam Hooch rushed to his side straight away, steering him towards the castle doors. "Poor boy… a broken wrist… we'll have to take you up to the hospital wing." Then, over her shoulder she called, "If I catch any one of you off the ground, you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch'."

It was only when Madam Hooch was far from the scene that Malfoy had the courage to walk over to where Neville had fallen and pick something up from the ground.

"Oh look," he drawled. "It's Longbottom's Remembrall." He sniggered, the other Slytherins joining in.

"I'll just go and hide it from him," Malfoy continued, smirking. "How about… up a tree?"

"Give it here, _Malfoy," _Harry spat.

Malfoy smirked, obviously pleased that he had annoyed him. "Or maybe on the roof," he said lazily.

"I _said,_ give it _here,"_ Harry snapped, angry now. He threw a leg over his broomstick when –

"_No, Harry! You heard what Madam Hooch said, you'll get expelled!_"

Two voices, both female, spoke at the one time. Ginny and Hermione. One spoke out loud and the other spoke in his head. But for once, Harry ignored not only Hermione but Ginny too (though quite rebelliously) as he kicked off from the ground.

It was extraordinary. The wind in his hair, the feeling of freedom as he soared towards the sky. Turning towards Malfoy in mid-air, Harry accelerated suddenly and shot sharply towards him like a bullet.

Malfoy looked startled at Harry's flying prowess. Seeing this, Harry decided to play upon it and said once again, "Give it here, Malfoy." He spoke in a calm yet persuasive voice.

Malfoy still didn't look convinced, so Harry said slyly, "No Crabbe and Goyle to save your skin up here."

The same thought seemed to have struck Malfoy, who said decisively, "Well, if you want it, go get it, then." And he threw the little glass ball in the opposite direction.

Harry watched the Remembrall's rise and fall as if in slow motion. Then, all of a sudden, he shot straight towards the little glass ball as it fell towards the ground.

Harry's eyes were fixed so intently on the Remembrall that he didn't notice as he shot past one of the school windows, out of which McGonagall watched intently. But Ginny did. He sank forward into a flawless dive, chasing towards that little glass ball, snatching it out of the air as he swooped up barely an inch from the ground, landing flawlessly upon the glossy green pitch without so much as a scratch.

Cheers broke out amongst the Gryffindors, completely drowning out the booing of the Slytherins, who were led by Malfoy. Harry, however, wasn't listening to them as Ginny screeched, _McGonagall's coming! _

Harry didn't have the time to try and hide himself as the irate teacher strode across the lawns, yelling, "Potter!"

The cheers and boos were silenced at once. "Come with me," the Professor said to Harry, leading him away from his stricken-looking classmates.

_You're done for now, _said Ginny sympathetically. Harry could not help it but to agree with her.

Professor McGonagall led Harry up numerous staircases and through numerous corridors that he was beginning to lose track of when she halted suddenly in front of the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom.

"Excuse me, but can I borrow Wood for a moment please?" she asked Professor Quirrell.

_Oh, no way, _said Ginny.

_What? _Harry asked her worriedly. _Is Wood some sort of cane? _

_No, _Ginny answered, sounding awed. _Wood's the – _

But she didn't get a chance to finish, because at that moment Harry saw for himself what – or who – Wood was.

Wood was a burly-looking fifth-year boy… a boy who wore the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain badge on his robes.

"Wood," said McGonagall formally. "I have found you a Seeker."

_Oh, that is too cool, _Ginny said, still in that awed voice. _They __never __make first-years __anything__ on Quidditch teams, let alone Seekers! _

Harry was just recounting his more-than-lucky scrape to Ron when Malfoy and his two cronies walked past the Gryffindor table, despite the fact that they didn't need to to get to _their_ table. Malfoy looked a lot more confident now that he was back on the ground with his two bodyguards beside him, and had regained his arrogant swagger.

The look on Malfoy's face was priceless as he took in the fact that Harry had not been expelled and was eating rather normally at his House table as if nothing had happened. Livid, he stalked towards Harry and Ron and said, "Having your last meal here, are you Potter?"

Harry smirked, reflecting the sneer on Malfoy's face with all the skill of a mirror. "You're a lot braver now that you're back on the ground and you've got your little friends with you." Of course, there was nothing little about Crabbe and Goyle, but with a table full of teachers right behind them they could do nothing but scowl, crack their knuckles and move a little closer to Malfoy.

"I can take _you_ on any time on my own, _Potter,"_ spat Malfoy. "Tonight, down at the trophy room. Wizard's duel." He smirked.

"Fine," Harry returned. "See you there."

As soon as Malfoy had turned his back, however, Ginny said in his head, _Don't go, Harry. I'll bet you anything it's a trap. Malfoy's more likely to tell Filch than to turn up with you as his adversary – he's seen how good you are in classes. _Harry grinned to himself. _That good, am I? _he asked Ginny. His own cheeks warmed and coloured at her resulting blush.

"Excuse me," said Hermione. "I couldn't help but overhear what you were saying-"

"Bet you could," muttered Ron.

"-and you _mustn't_ go wandering around the corridors at night, what if you get caught? You'll lose all the points I got for knowing about Switching Spells." Hermione looked defiantly at Ron – it was quite clear that she had heard his comment, and that her way of retaliation was to outline the fact that she was more successful in classes than he was.

Spotting the brewing battle between Ron and Hermione, Harry decided to intervene before things got messy. "Of course we're not going," he said, to Ron's obvious chagrin. "Malfoy is more likely to tell Filch than to actually turn up."

Hermione looked at Harry approvingly. "Good," she said, smiling. As soon as she was out of earshot, Ron rounded on Harry and said, "You only said that to get her off our backs, didn't you?" He sounded almost accusing.

"No," said Harry. "What I said was the truth – if Malfoy isn't tipping off Filch right now then I'm a dragon."

The next morning at breakfast, Malfoy looked again livid at the fact that Harry was still at school. "See?" Harry asked Ron thickly through a mouthful of sausage. "The look on his face is enough proof that he was expecting us to be long gone."

"Genius, mate," said Ron, nodding. "Pure genius."

_Thank you, Ron, for the compliment, _said Ginny in Harry's head, causing him to choke on the mouthful of eggs he'd been consuming.

**-- -- --**

One-and-a-half hours and two classes later, Ron was grumbling yet again about Hermione. "She's a bloody know-it-all," was his favourite nasty comment. The class had been put into pairs to work on some new spells in Charms, and Ron had been put with Hermione (Professor Flitwick obviously couldn't see the impending danger that surrounded the two). Ron was once again disgruntled that Hermione had bested him. This time, however, Hermione had heard Ron's comment, and all that could be seen of her was her bushy hair and her hands, which had covered her face in an unsuccessful attempt to muffle her sobs.

Later that night at the Halloween feast, Hermione had not turned up for a single lesson, which was quite unlike her, nor was she at the Gryffindor table. The last that had been seen of her, Harry had heard, was when she had hurtled into the first-floor girls' bathroom.

Ginny was appalled at her older brothers' behavior towards the bushy-haired girl. Harry had had to put up with her snarling insults to Ron in his head all day, and she was still at it now.

_Horrible asshole, _she grumbled. _I'd like to see __his__ reaction if I insulted him for something he was proud of… _Her anger was so solid that _Harry_ could feel some of it himself, and had to refrain from repeating some of the insults to Ron's face.

The feast had just begun when the magnificent double doors to the Great Hall swung open rather forcefully and a voice screamed, "TROLL IN THE DUNGEONS! TROLL!" And then, quieter, "Thought you ought to know." _Thud. _

It was Professor Quirrell, and he had fainted straight after he had spoken (or screamed, rather).

Pandemonium broke out in the Hall. Professor Dumbledore had to resort to creating several purple firecrackers to get people's attention.

"All staff members go to the dungeons immediately," he said loudly. "Prefects, lead your House back to the dormitories."

Percy was, of course, downright delighted about this arrangement. "Gryffindors follow me," he announced, struggling to make his voice heard over the chatter. "Make two straight lines."

It was only when they reached the first floor that Harry remembered, for once without Ginny's help – "Hermione!" He dragged Ron off to the girls' bathroom by a handful of his robes.

Imagine their shock and horror when they found the troll smashing its way into the bathroom!

Harry and Ron rushed into the girls' bathroom without the thought that it was a _girls' _bathroom crossing their minds once. They found Hermione cowering behind one of the sinks, watching wide-eyed as the troll smashed through the wooden cubicles separating each toilet, looking for the source of the whimpering it could hear.

"Come on!" Harry told Hermione, extending an arm for her to grab. "Let's get out of here!"

Unfortunately, they weren't so lucky as to get out without the troll noticing first. Grunting and roaring, the troll swung an arm towards Harry, who only just managed to duck. Fortune wasn't smiling upon them that day, because when Harry ducked, his hand slipped from Hermione's arm.

"Harry!" she screamed as the troll made a swing for _her. _She wasn't as good at dodging as Harry was, and chose to dive behind a sink instead. The troll smashed through it easily, and water squirted her from the punctured tap.

Through the entire hubbub between the troll, Hermione and Harry, Ron stood forgotten in the corner next to all the smashed-up toilet cubicles. Lunging for the biggest piece of splintered wood, throwing it at the troll's head and yelling, "Oy, pea-brain!" Most likely the troll couldn't even _feel_ the wood as it simply bounced off its head. However, it _could_ hear Ron's yell, and so it decided to turn its attention to him rather than Harry and Hermione.

Ron cowered back against the wall, having nowhere to run. So whilst it was distracted, Harry quite rashly ran at full speed towards the huge troll, throwing himself at it and wrapping his arms around its neck.

The troll could feel him, but most likely – and _hopefully_ – didn't know what he was. Bucking Harry forward, the troll caught his ankle and dangled him upside-down in midair.

_Ginny?! _Harry half-screamed, half-asked. _What do I do?! _

But Ginny didn't answer. From what he could tell through their link, Harry figured that she was almost unconscious – the blood had rushed to her head at the same time it had done so to Harry, and Ginny wasn't taking it so well.

Not having Ginny to call upon made Harry turn to his last resort – "Ron!" he yelped. "Do something!"

And do something Ron did. Whipping out his wand, he shouted daringly, "Wingardium Leviosa!"

Normally Ron wouldn't stand a chance trying to perform this sort of magic. Being in this sort of situation brings out the best in people, however, and the club that the troll held in the hand that wasn't holding Harry was wrenched out of its hand, hanging in midair for a moment before dropping down onto the troll's head with a sickening _crack _like a gunshot.

The hand holding Harry's ankle slackened and relented, and Harry had mere moments to do something before he hit the ground. Twisting in mid-air and landing in a cat-like crouch wasn't what he had planned, but Harry didn't care what it looked like as he scrambled out of the way just in time before the knocked-out troll fell to the ground with a resounding _thud. _

There was an awkward silence. And then the awkwardness rose to a new level when the silence was broken with a, "What on _earth_ were you thinking of?"

It was McGonagall. "You could've been _killed,"_ she continued, glaring piercingly at them. "Why aren't you in your dormitories?"

Harry and Ron looked at the floor, with Ron stuttering, "We – we were," in the background, when a high voice cut into the silence.

"Please, Professor, they were looking for me."

It was Hermione. Continuing and either not noticing or ignoring Harry's and Ron's looks of incredulity, she said, "I – I went looking for the troll because – well, I thought I could deal with them, since I'd read all about them. If – if Harry and Ron hadn't come to save me, I'd probably be dead."

Harry and Ron's mouths hung open in shock. Ginny, who had obviously regained her senses, had dropped the book she had been holding back at the Burrow. Hermione Granger, the teacher's pet, _lying to one?_ It was unheard of.

Professor McGonagall stared at them all, shocked. This obviously wasn't what she had expected. Finally, gathering herself, she said, "Well, Miss Granger, if that's all you have to say for yourself, then – then five points from Gryffindor. If you're not hurt, then off you go." But when Harry and Ron moved to follow her, McGonagall stopped them.

"Five points each to Gryffindor," she told them, "and Professor Dumbledore will be informed of this. Not many first-years could have taken on a twelve-foot mountain troll and lived to tell the tale. You may go."

And from that day on, Hermione became their friend.


	3. Discoveries

**Disclaimer: Do I really have to say this again? I AM NOT J.K. ROWLING! Furthermore, if this was my original creation - which it is most certainly not - then it would be in a _bookstore, not_ on your computer screen. Clear enough for you?**

**Author's Note: I'm truly sorry about the Quidditch match. As I'm sure _someone _will notice, it's almost taken directly from canon. The only changes made is a little word-tweaking, and all of the plays made are straight from the book. Sorry about that - I'm absolute crap at writing original sporty stuff. In fact, I'm absolute crap at anything to do with sport, so bear with me on this one. I might write an original, in-depth Quidditch match someday. Hopefully. And that, of course, is the key word there. _Hopefully._**

**Two - Discoveries**

The day after Halloween (a Saturday) was sleety, dreary, and _wet._ This wasn't good for Harry seeing as his first Quidditch match was coming up soon and Wood was forcing the whole Gryffindor team, especially Harry, into a relentless tidal wave of practices, whether it was through rain, sun or snow.

Another downside to the upcoming Quidditch match was that Harry didn't have a broom of his own yet, and as Ginny had told him that Fred and George had said, the school brooms really _did_ vibrate if you flew 'too high' (obviously an attempt to make the matches safer – it wasn't a very good attempt though, seeing as most people had their own brooms anyway).

So it was to Harry's delight when a broom-shaped package arrived in the morning post.

"What's that?" asked Ron curiously, obviously not recognizing the package's shape.

Harry ignored his best male friend as he hastened to remove the envelope attached to the top of the parcel. Slitting it open, he unfolded the note and read:

_DO NOT OPEN THE PARCEL AT THE TABLE! _

_It contains your new Nimbus Two Thousand, but I don't want the rest of the school knowing you've got a new broomstick or they'll all want one. _

_Sincerely, _

_Professor M. McGonagall._

Ron nearly fell off his chair when Harry read out the letter in a hushed voice to his two friends. (Ginny was still asleep). _"A Nimbus Two Thousand!" _he hollered. "I wish _I _could get a Nimbus Two Thousand! Harry, that's brilliant!"

Hermione, however, gave a different view on the matter. "I do hope you'll be careful," she said worriedly. "This broomstick is supposed to be quite fast, isn't it? Make sure you don't fall off and break your neck."

Ron sniggered. "Hermione, even _McGonagall _approves of this, and she's a _teacher! _You really _do_ have to find a fault in everything, don't you?"

Hermione sniffed and looked like she was about to make a snappy retort when Harry decided to hurriedly intervene. "Let's go and see Hagrid," he said. "We can open the broomstick there, and before long the ground'll be too slushy to go."

So the three of them headed down to Hagrid's. Just as they reached the steps, however –

"That's a broomstick, that is," Malfoy drawled, pointing to the parcel in Harry's hands. "You'll get into_ loads_ of trouble, first-years aren't allowed." He looked delighted at that particular concept.

Before any of the trio could tell Malfoy the truth, he had called to the nearest teacher (Flitwick, who was passing by in the Entrance Hall), "Excuse me, Potter's got a broomstick!"

_Way to be suave, Malfoy, _thought Harry to no-one in particular, as Ginny was _still_ asleep. (Sleeping in, most probably – it _was_ a Saturday, after all).

Harry, Hermione and Ron in particular were delighted when Flitwick said, "Yes, yes, and what model is it, Potter?"

Savouring the look on Malfoy's face (he looked as though he had been slapped), Harry answered, "It's a Nimbus Two Thousand, Professor."

"_Wonderful," _Flitwick said. "Well, good luck with the match against Slytherin!" He left.

Harry grinned as Malfoy stalked off, Crabbe and Goyle seeming to appear out of nowhere as Malfoy reached the Great Hall, stuffing ketchup-slathered sausages into their mouths. "C'mon, let's go," he told Ron and Hermione, and they headed off to Hagrid's.

Ginny woke up when they were halfway there. _Whassup, _she said groggily as she awoke, peering out of his eyes. Then, more urgently –

_Is that a BROOMSTICK? _Grinning, Harry nodded and then foolishly realizing that she couldn't see him, said, _It's a Nimbus Two Thousand! _

A muffled _thump _in his head and a sharp, momentary pain in his backside told Harry that Ginny had fallen out of bed. When she seemed to have gathered herself she said, _OH MY GOD, I can't BELIEVE it! Who, what when, where, why, and how?! _She sounded astonished.

Little did Harry know, but as he began to converse with Ginny, Ron and Hermione were observing him with silent curiosity. They weren't the only ones who noticed his peculiar behaviour – all Harry's classmates noticed too. Sometimes Harry would nod seemingly absentmindedly or chuckle to himself, both for no apparent reason. Sighing, Ron and Hermione simply put it off as him being simply eccentric – there was no other 'logical' explanation, according to Hermione. How were they to know he had a soul bond with Ron's sister?

By the time Harry and Ginny had finished their conversation, he, Ron and Hermione had arrived at Hagrid's. Hagrid, of course, looked delighted by their unexpected visit. Ushering them in out of the cold, Hagrid appeared to be simply bursting to show them his new 'pet.'

"Hagrid, is that – is that a _dragon egg?" _It was Ron who recognized the strange black egg first, before even Hermione, to their surprise.

"Charlie – my brother – works with dragons," Ron explained quickly, looking disgruntled at their obvious incredulity. "But really, _is it?"_

"Yep – bought him off a Greek chappie I met at the Hog's Head in Hogsmeade – I've bin lookin' at some books 'bout 'em, an' this one I've got here's a Norwegian Ridgeback." He looked forlornly at the egg, which sat in a pot over the fire.

Hoping to distract Hagrid from the egg for at least five seconds, Harry said hastily, "Look at what I got in the mail, Hagrid!" and grabbed the still-wrapped broom, passing it over to Hagrid.

Hagrid grinned as he read the letter. "Ah, jus' like yer father," he said. "He was a Chaser in his day. Bes' on his team."

Harry smiled proudly as he ripped open the parcel. He didn't know much about broomsticks, but this one was magnificent compared to the school brooms. Sleek, shiny and polished, its handle was embossed with _'Nimbus Two Thousand' _written in fancy gold script.

Ron moaned enviously for about the fifty millionth time, Ginny gasped both in and out of their mind connection, and even Hermione looked impressed. Harry grinned in delight as he hefted the broom, which was feather-light. On this, he just might have a chance in the upcoming Quidditch match.

The day of Harry's first Quidditch match was sunny but cold. Harry was exceedingly nervous, especially because the book he had been studying in order to obtain good tactics, _'Quidditch Through the Ages', _had been confiscated due to a made-up rule, courtesy of 'the slimy git'. Harry had also seen Snape showing Filch a bloody and mangled leg when he had gone to the staff room with the hope that Snape might give his book back. Snape had been saying, 'Bloody stupid dog,' and Harry was desperate to know who the 'bloody stupid dog' was.

However, Harry had no time to worry about neither bloody stupid dogs nor slimy gits as he walked out onto the pitch. The sun beat down on the smooth-as-silk, perfectly green and so-hard-it's-almost-springy pitch, and it was a cold, say-hello-to autumn type of day – perfect conditions for a Quidditch match, as Wood said, but nothing as mundane as the weather could distract Harry from his churning stomach.

The crowd cheered as the two teams strolled down to where Madam Hooch, who was refereeing, stood in the middle of the pitch. "I want a nice, clean game," she said icily. "From all of you." She seemed to be looking directly at the Slytherins as she spoke. After Wood and the Slytherin captain, Flint (who looked like he had some troll blood in him, according to Ginny) shook hands, Madam Hooch said, "Mount your brooms, please." They all clambered onto their different brooms and Madam Hooch blew on her whistle –

"And they're off!" yelled a voice that Harry vaguely recognized, one that seemed to be magnified so all players and spectators alike could hear it – Harry glanced up to some sort of podium to see Lee Jordan, a friend of Fred and George's, bellowing into some sort of a magical microphone – he appeared to be commentating. "And the Quaffle is seized by Angelina Johnson, Gryffindor Chaser, she's an excellent player, and rather attractive too, I've been saying that for years but she still won't go out with me – "

Lee was interrupted by a cry of "JORDAN!" that appeared to come from Professor McGonagall, who was sitting next to him in the commentator's podium, apparently to stop him from making crude comments like that one – stifling a snort, Harry wheeled his Nimbus to the top of the pitch, higher even than the stadiums and the goalposts – Wood had told him to stay clear of the game and therefore any unnecessary damage before he saw the Golden Snitch.

"And Johnson passes the Quaffle to Alicia Spinnet of Gryffindor, Spinnet passes back to Johnson and – oh no, Slytherin have got the Quaffle, Flint belting along there – he's going to score – no, saved by Gryffindor captain Wood, and Wood passes to Gryffindor chaser Katie Bell – Bell's got the Quaffle and is racing along the pitch and – OUCH, hit on the back of the head by a Bludger, and Slytherin takes the Quaffle, Adrian Pucey is shooting back towards Wood, and – OH, nice Bludger there, hit by Fred or George Weasley, can't tell which – anyway, Johnson's caught the dropped Quaffle and off she goes – YES! GRYFFINDOR SCORE! It's ten-nil to Gryffindor!"

Harry did a loop-the-loop then to let out his feelings before returning his attention to watching out for the Snitch. He could see Hagrid in the stands, near Ron and Hermione – well, near a flash of red and brown, anyway – but so far there was no sign of the Snitch.

Slytherin were just in possession of the Quaffle when Harry saw it – a flash of gold, right next to Adrian Pucey's ear. He dived, a rush of adrenaline accelerating his speed even more –

Terence Higgs, the Slytherin Seeker, had seen it too. Neck and neck, the two hurtled towards the tiny, fluttering ball and, with the screams of the commentator ringing in his ears, Harry made a great swipe for the Snitch –

_Harry, look out! _Ginny screamed as – WHAM – Flint had knocked Harry's broom off course, and now he was spinning towards the stadium. Gryffindor was given a penalty to which Alicia Spinnet scored easily, but in all the confusion and downright pandemonium the Snitch had disappeared.

It was just after Slytherin scored that it happened. Harry's broom began to jolt and buck, shaking so hard that Harry had to hold on for dear life. Clamping onto it tightly, Harry struggled to stay on the broomstick.

Soon, the whole stadium, plus all the players, was staring at Harry in alarm. Even Lee Jordan was silent, and the Weasley twins were now circling the air five feet below Harry to catch him should he fall.

Suddenly, the broom gave a frightening lurch that Harry was unprepared for, and he flew off his Nimbus, now holding on for dear life. The sound of gasps and the sight of Fred and George tightening the circle that they rotated in underneath him were not altogether reassuring to Harry as he struggled to reach up and grasp his broomstick with his other hand.

Back in the stadium, Ron, Hermione and Hagrid were looking grey-faced as they stared at their falling friend when suddenly; Hermione had an idea, as ideas often come to you in times of crisis. Seizing the pair of binoculars that Hagrid was peering at Harry through, she turned to look not at her messy-haired friend but instead at the section of the stadium reserved for teachers and Quidditch-players' parents.

Sure enough, just as she had suspected, Snape was staring straight at Harry, his mouth moving subtly and his eyes not being taken off of the dangling boy.

"Where are you going?" asked Ron as she stood up and began her laborious task. Hermione ignored him as she struggled over peoples' laps and rushed through aisles and up staircases, rushing towards the teachers' podium.

Hermione didn't even stop to say sorry as she knocked Quirrell over once she arrived at the teachers' podium. Running straight past him, she ducked behind a chair and pointed her wand straight at Snape's robes.

Her spell was a clever one – bright blue flames shot out of her wand, setting dire to the hem of Snape's robes. Triumphant, she hurried off to return to her seat between Ron and Hagrid.

Harry missed hearing the game's final score as his two friends rushed him to Hagrid's hut for a cup of strong tea – all he knew was that Gryffindor had won due to his very odd way of catching the Snitch – in his mouth. As he sipped the tea contentedly, Hermione recounted what she had done to Snape.

"I'm tellin' yeh, Snape wouldn't've jinxed the broom!" Hagrid kept on insisting. "Dumbledore _trusts_ him – he trusts him well enough to give him a hand in protecting the Stone after Fluffy -"

But suddenly he fell silent. And Harry, Ron and Hermione knew that he had just said something he wasn't supposed to say.

"What's Fluffy, Hagrid?" asked Harry cautiously.

"I shouldn't've said that," said Hagrid. "I should _not_ have said that."

But Harry was wondering…

"Is Fluffy a dog, Hagrid?" he asked. Hagrid's look of shock was enough answer. And Harry was remembering, too – _Bloody stupid dog, _he said to Ginny.

_But that's not all, _Ginny added. _Snape wasn't the only one behaving strangely in the teacher's podium. _

Harry was silent, waiting for her to continue.

_Quirrell was too, _she said grimly. _And Hermione said she knocked him over. _

It looked like there were two candidates for the 'who's after the mysterious Stone' contest.

**-- -- --**

The next few weeks rushed by in a blur for Harry, Ron and Hermione. It was hard to find time to do _anything, _let alone research some kind of Stone and sneak onto the third floor corridor to find out anything about this Fluffy.

It wasn't until three weeks and one day precisely after the Quidditch match that they had the time to do anything, but as the rest of the third floor was swamped with people and there was now way of sneaking into the corridor, they were resigned to researching about the Stone – but as they had nothing to go by on, they weren't very successful.

"This is ridiculous," said Hermione as she slammed the book she had been reading shut. "We're _never_ going to find this!"

"I know," Ron moaned. "We don't even know what this 'Stone' is – it could be anything!"

Harry stayed quiet for a few moments before saying, "I say we go to the third floor corridor tonight."

Ron and Hermione's reactions were both very different, as always; Ron seemed delighted that this was what Harry wanted to do, whereas Hermione instantly replied, "Harry, we can't. We'll get caught for sure."

"Well, we have to go there sometime, and there'll be just as much chance that we'll get caught then! What's the point in putting things off?" Harry said reasonably.

"I - I _suppose…" _said Hermione doubtfully, trailing off. She obviously didn't seem too keen, but as Ron pointed out, "It's two against one. Besides, Harry's right. You're the one who tells us not to procrastinate with our homework, so what's the difference?"

Hermione threw him a dirty, contemptuous look as the trio headed back to the common room.

It was close to eleven when the trio set off to go to the third floor corridor. They had decided to leave this late because they would have less of a chance of getting caught had they left earlier.

It was incredibly difficult, this sneaking-around-in-the-dark thing. They had to duck behind a suit of armour or a tapestry whenever they heard footsteps or a meow (Mrs. Norris, Filch's horrid cat). They also had to leap from shadow to shadow in order to stay as well-hidden as they could. However, they were only half-satisfied when they finally reached the door to their destination. Wondering how on earth a _dog_ could have caused Snape's horribly mangled leg, the trio turned the doorknob carefully.

"It's locked!" Ron half-whispered, half-moaned.

"Well, what did you expect?" Hermione asked haughtily. "Move… please."

Harry and Ron hastily moved out of her way; it wasn't often that Hermione said 'please'. _Maybe it's some sort of way of keeping quiet – she obviously wants to avoid arguments, _Harry thought to no-one in particular, as Ginny was asleep. _And so I should be too, _thought Harry. _What __on earth was I __thinking? _

"Alohomora," Hermione whispered. The lock clicked open, and in response to her friends' stares she explained quickly, "It's in _'The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1.'" _She then turned back to the door, grasped the doorknob firmly, turned it and –

And straight away, the trio realized how Fluffy, a _dog,_ had mangled Snape's leg - Fluffy was a lot more than just a dog.

The three friends stared in horror as Fluffy – all three heads, six mad yellow eyes, and three monstrous, fang-filled mouths of him – reared up at them, growling thunderously.

Coming to see Fluffy hadn't been Harry's best idea in the world.

"RUN!" screamed all three of them in unison.

Turning around, the three of them grappled with the doorknob, struggled out the door, and began running down the hallway outside the door at full speed.

Unfortunately, in their haste to get back to the common room, Harry, Ron and Hermione forgot to do their whole leaping-into-shadows routine, and ran straight into –

Peeves the prank-loving poltergeist. "Ooh, ickle firsties!" he said in an annoying sing-song voice. "Naughty, naughty, you'll get caughty – I should tell Filch, I should." He cackled obstinately.

"No, please don't, please don't tell, Peeves –"

"Get out of our way!" snapped Ron, still white-faced and clearly not in his right mind from their encounter with Fluffy – because who in their right mind would try to _swipe _at Peeves? It was quite clear that that wasn't what one should do when they didn't want Peeves to tell on them.

"STUDENTS OUT OF BED DOWN THE SEVENTH FLOOR CORRIDOR!" screamed Peeves.

The trio had nothing to do but run – however, luck seemed to be on their side, because they managed to both find an unused classroom to hide in, _and _the one who came when Peeves called was Filch.

Peeves didn't like Filch.

"Where are the students out of bed?" wheezed Filch. "Quick, tell me which way they went."

"Say 'please!'" sang Peeves.

"Quit messing around and _tell me where they went!"_ Filch screeched. _Big_ mistake on his part.

"Shan't say nothing if you don't say please!" Peeves said pointedly.

"All right – please."

"NOTHING! Ha-haaaaaa! Told you I wouldn't say nothing if you didn't say please!" And with that, Peeves whizzed off.

Filch, whom Harry would have liked to have been able to see the expression on his face right then of, could be heard stomping off and cursing 'that bloody horrible poltergeist.'

It was with relief – pure, utter relief – that the trio hurried into the Gryffindor tower and stumbled into bed.

Harry and Ron were looking forward to a nice big breakfast the next morning, but their hopes were sadly delayed by a distraction in the form of Hermione. She rushed down the girls' stairs at full speed, knocking the two boys into an armchair as she went.

"Look!" she shrieked as she shoved a large, moth-eaten book in their faces. "Look at this!"

And she flipped to a page which read:

_**The ancient study of alchemy is concerned with the making of the Philosophers' Stone. **_

**-- -- --**

The rest of the term sped by in a rush, and before Harry knew it it was the Christmas holidays. Unfortunately, Ginny had been unsuccessful in trying to convince Mrs. Weasley to let Harry come over there for the Christmas holidays, as the two of them, along with Mr. Weasley, were going to Romania over Christmas to visit Ginny's (and Ron's) brother Charlie.

Thankfully, Ron wasn't going to the Burrow either, so Harry would at least have a friend still at Hogwarts (Hermione was going home to visit her Muggle parents).

Harry, Ron and Hermione (and Ginny too) had all been incredibly excited when they had discovered what this mysterious 'Stone' could be. They were, however, very disappointed to discover that they had no proof that this 'Stone' was _the_ 'Stone'. Though it fit the puzzle (it would be something very suitable for someone to be after – it could turn all metal into gold and produced the Elixir of Life, which made the drinker immortal) there was simply nothing that could prove their theory.

Harry's Christmas at Hogwarts was his best Christmas by far. For one thing, he actually had –

"PRESENTS!"

Harry awoke groggily to the sight of Ron sitting gleefully at the end of the latter's bed, eagerly surveying the pile of presents at its foot.

"_Finally,_ you're up!" he said.

Harry then turned to see – to his shock – a whole _pile _of presents at the end of his bed!

"I've – I've got _presents!" _he said gleefully.

Ron looked at him oddly. "Yeah, 'course you do!" he said. "What'd you expect, dragon dung?" He snorted. "Well, open them, then!" He then proceeded to open his own pile of presents.

Taking his first present hesitantly from the pile, Harry glanced at it to see that it was wrapped in plain brown paper and was, according to the messy scrawl on the front, from Hagrid. Inside was an odd-looking flute that appeared to have been whittled by Hagrid himself.

The next present – If you could call it a present – was merely a note which read; _We received notification that you are staying at your school and enclose your Christmas present. From Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon._ A fifty pence piece was taped to the back of the note.

His next few presents included Chocolate Frogs from Hermione, fudge and an emerald-green woolen jumper from Mrs. Weasley, and a thin golden chain with a lightning-bolt hanging off the end from Ginny. It was the last present, however, which intrigued him the most.

The present was some kind of a fluid, watery-feeling silvery-grey cloak. "Hey, Ron, look at this!" he said. Ron, who had been about to open a suspicious-looking orange-wrapped package from Fred and George, turned to him and gasped –

"Harry, I think that's an Invisibility Cloak!"

"A what?" asked Harry automatically and rather stupidly. He did, however, get the gist of what his friend was saying, and stood up immediately to wrap the cloak around his body, leaving his head exposed and rushing to the mirror.

His body was gone! It didn't even seem transparent – he could literally look right through it, and his head looked like it was suspended in midair! Hastily he pulled the hood of the cloak over his head and stared as he vanished completely from sight.

"A note fell out of it, look!" said Ron, plucking the aforementioned note from the ground which, if that was possible, confused Harry even more, as it read; _Your father gave this to me before he died. It is time for it to be returned to you. Use it well. _The note was not signed.

After acting the audience to a very amusing display courtesy of Fred and George and involving Percy and his Prefect badge, Harry enjoyed the best Christmas lunch he had ever had. However, this wasn't the thing that made this particular Christmas the oddest Christmas Harry had ever had.

That night, he headed out to look around the school. He was properly alone for the first time in a while, and found that quite odd in itself. Generally he had Ginny's warm, comforting presence in his mind, but right now she was asleep. And whenever Ginny wasn't there, he always had others nearby, but tonight the corridors of Hogwarts were eerily empty. And it was then, when he was wandering around innocently (or at least, as innocently as you could get when sneaking around after curfew) that he found what made this Christmas so odd.

It was a mirror. Left in an unused classroom and towering over the other boxes of inordinate knick-knacks that seemed to have no apparent use, the mirror didn't just stand out because of its size. Its ornate golden frame and elegantly clawed feet helped, too, but the thing that really set this mirror apart from the rest was the inscription at the top. _Erised stra ehu oyt ube cafru oyt wohsi. _What was that, some kind of foreign language?

And in a flash, it came to him. Although Ginny was still asleep, his mind was still sharpened by its link to hers, and that was how he figured out something he never would have figured out otherwise – the mirror's inscription really read; _I show not your face but your hearts' desire. _It was written backwards!

Wondering fervently what his hearts' desire was, Harry stepped in front of the mirror to see –

It was like a shuttle camera! Images flitted over the mirror's shiny surface slowly enough for Harry to make out what they contained, but fast enough to stop him from dwelling on them too long.

The first image was of a man who looked startlingly like an older version of Harry, his arm around a woman with fiery red hair and startlingly green eyes. The woman had an arm around the man too, but her other arm was supporting a baby with the messy black hair of the man and the gleaming green eyes of the woman.

It was Harry as a baby with his mum and dad.

Just as tears began to form in his eyes, the image changed. Or did it? The picture seemed to be exactly the same, but if you looked closer, there were some minor differences. The man in this picture wasn't James – this man had green eyes. _This_ man really _was_ an older version of Harry!

The woman was different too. Her hair was longer and a lighter shade of red, and her eyes were brown. She was also shorter than Lily, and the baby she was holding had brown eyes.

Harry gave a start when he realized who the woman was supposed to be – Ginny!

Now Harry was _really_ glad Ginny was asleep. Him and Ginny with a _baby_ – perhaps even _married?_ – was supposed to be his hearts' desire? It was a confused Harry that returned to the first-year boys' dorm that night.

**-- -- --**

Boxing Day was a difficult day for Harry. He wanted nothing more than to try and figure out why he saw Ginny in the mirror, but didn't want Ginny to know about the deepest desire of his heart, either. He had to struggle not to let the image of the older forms of himself and Ginny with a baby not to pop into his head.

Harry didn't return to the mirror again, either. Nor did he show it to Ron – what if the latter discovered what was in the mirror for Harry? He seriously doubted that Ron would be too enthusiastic about Harry's wish involving his younger sister.

The remaining days of the Christmas holidays passed quite quickly. Soon, Hermione was back, not to mention classes and homework too. It was on the way to one of the classes, and the last for that particular day (Herbology) that the trio received the note.

_You-know what is hatching. Come down as soon as you can. _It was from Hagrid.

"What the hell is you-know-what?" asked Ron, who had clearly forgotten about the dragon egg in Hagrid's fire.

Rolling her eyes, Hermione answered Ron's question, albeit after a bickering-inducing comment. Harry laughed at his friends' antics and followed them to the greenhouses.

After a boring and tedious class which even Hermione seemed itching to leave, the three friends rushed down to Hagrid's as fast as they could. The dragon egg lay on the table, deep cracks running across its surface, and a funny tapping noise was emitting from inside it. Harry, Ron and Hermione clambered eagerly into three of the four seats surrounding the table where the egg was hatching.

All of a sudden, just when the trio and Hagrid had settled into their respective seats, the egg split open with a loud _crack. _

The dragon that emerged was rather odd-looking, and in Harry's opinion resembled a small, crumpled umbrella. It was black, with a skinny body, wings twice its size _each_ and bulging orange eyes coupled with a long, wide-nostriled snout.

"Isn't he jus' _beau'iful," _murmured Hagrid. "A Norwegian Ridgeback – I recognize it from some pictures. I'm gonna name 'im… how about Norbert?"

Norbert stumbled over to Hagrid and sneezed directly into his beard. A few sparks flew out and set the scraggly black beard aflame, but Hagrid didn't even see fazed as he swatted out the sparks. "Oh, bless him, he knows 'is Mummy," Hagrid said.

_He knows his Mummy indeed, _said Ginny.

No matter how much they tried, Harry, Ron and Hermione couldn't seem to convince Hagrid to let Norbert out into the wild. Soon he had tripled in size, and not even Malfoy seeing Norbert through the window could change his mind, despite how much it clearly unsettled the other three. It was when the trio were watching Hagrid feed Norbert chicken blood from a baby's bottle and struggling not to giggle at Norbert's razor-sharp fangs piercing the rubber teat that Ginny had a brainstorm.

_Harry! _She squealed into his mind. _Charlie! Send Norbert to Romania with him, that way Hagrid won't have the excuse that Norbert'll die in the wild! _

After much coaxing and careful flattery, Harry, Ron and Hermione managed to convince Hagrid to let them ask Charlie if he could take Norbert. Thankfully, several days after they sent a letter out to him, they received a reply. At midnight the next Saturday, he would send a few of his friends on broomsticks to the topmost tower to collect him.

Unfortunately, they figured out that if they carried Norbert in a crate, only two of them would be able to fit under the Invisibility Cloak – it was a tight squeeze as it was. Again unfortunately, their decision of who was to stay and who was to go was made for them, and not in a good way. One time while visiting Hagrid and Norbert, the aforementioned anything-but-cute dragon bit Ron on the hand, and the bite mark looked poisonous.

Thankfully, Madam Pomfrey seemed to accept (though grudgingly) the lie that a stray dog was the one to bite Ron, but he was forced to stay in the hospital wing for two nights – and the second one of those nights was the Saturday that they had to take Norbert up to the Astronomy tower.

Bad luck _always_ comes in threes – Harry, Ron and Hermione discovered this, though against their will, when Malfoy came to 'visit' Ron and insisted to Madam Pomfrey that he needed to borrow one of Ron's school books. _Why _did Madam Pomfrey just _have _to be in a gullible mood that day? She believed the scheming rat, but that wasn't the worst thing. The book he wanted just _happened _to have the letter with Charlie's reply tucked in between the pages!

"It's too late to change it now," Hermione said with a sigh. "We'll just have to risk it."

"Who are you and what've you done to Hermione Granger?" asked Ron.

Norbert was packed and ready when Harry and Hermione arrived at Hagrid's at eleven o'clock precisely that Saturday night. The walls of the crate he was in had several tiny airholes in them, which were too small to see through. You could hear inside the crate, however, and some funny ripping noises were emitting from the box.

Hagrid was quite an odd sight – a man that big with teary eyes and a choked-up voice wasn't something you saw every day. "I've packed 'im lots of brandy an' chicken bones for the journey," he said tearfully. "An' his teddy bear too in case he gets lonely."

_Sounds like teddy's getting his head ripped off, _Ginny commented – she had stayed up extra-late to see what happened with Norbert first-hand. Harry bit back a laugh at her comment as he and Hermione draped the Cloak carefully over Norbert's crate and stepped underneath it.

"Mummy will never forget you!" Hagrid sobbed after them as they departed.

It was a lot harder than you'd think, trying to stay hidden by a cloak and lugging a heavy crate up moving staircases. It was five minutes to midnight – it had taken fifty-five minutes to lug Norbert up all those stairs, and they still had the steep, winding and narrow staircase up to the top of the Astronomy tower to go.

Just as they were beginning to climb, an incredibly stimulating sight fell upon Harry's and Hermione's eyes. McGonagall, dragging Malfoy by the ear!

Harry and Hermione both shrank into the shadows immediately as they watched, wide-eyed, as McGonagall yelled, "Twenty points from Slytherin, and a detention too! How _dare_ you go about making false accusations and sneaking around past curfew!" Ignoring Malfoy's whimpers, stutters and 'buts,' she continued to drag him along the corridor.

Harry and Hermione bounced up the stairs with renewed heart, throwing off the cloak as soon as they reached the top. Charlie's friends were already there, and found it incredibly funny that they had just unintentionally gotten their archenemy in detention. They were cheerful and friendly, and seemed to have no qualms about the odd arrangement they had been roped into. Harry and Hermione heaved Norbert into the leather harness the boys had rigged up to support Norbert between them, and watched with glee as they, and Norbert with them, disappeared into the night.

Just as they were about to descend the stairs, Ginny cried suddenly, _Don't forget the Cloak! _It was a good thing too – they almost had, and Filch was at the bottom of the stairs! Sneaking past the cranky old caretaker, Harry and Hermione headed off to bed with their hearts as light as their hands.


	4. The Second Showdown

**Disclaimer: As much as it pains me to say this, I do not own Harry Potter... sadly, J.K. Rowling is the only one who owns him, along with all of the other wonderful (and sometimes not) characters. She is the creator of the universe we here at Harry Potter fanfiction take refuge in... so we should all stop dreaming of being the creator and owner of Harry Potter, all his fabulous friends, and all his horrific enemies. Hey, that's my best disclaimer yet! So dramatic... and yet so true... (insert morose, wistful sob here).**

**Author's Note: Yes, I know this chapter's kinda short, but i thought it best to have the trapdoor journey, confrontation and 'Epilogue' all in one chapter with nothing else, 'cause any other chapter might look weird combined with this one. Also, this is the last chapter taken from 'The Core of Power I: Bonded Souls'! Yay! From here on in there will be large gaps between updates, but everything will be new and never-before-seen, exclusive to fanfiction dot net!**

**Three - The Second Showdown**

The next few weeks passed in a flash for Harry, Ron and Hermione

The next few weeks passed in a flash for Harry, Ron and Hermione. Ron had been delighted to find that Malfoy had gotten a detention, and even more delighted to discover that his detention had been in the Forbidden Forest. Hagrid had been the one to take him in, and reported that Malfoy hadn't been quite so brave amongst, to quote him, 'w-werewolves and c-centaurs!' On a darker note, Hagrid also informed them of a strange being in the forest that night, and had also let slip that it had drunk unicorn blood – and Hermione had then realized that drinking unicorn blood would, in her words, 'sustain your life even at the brink of death, while condemning you to a cursed half-life.

It was the afternoon after the exams, in which Harry felt unusually confident about seeing as Ginny had helped him, looking up all the answers he needed in the middle of each test, that Harry realized it. "That Philosopher's Stone, it said in your book, Hermione, that it made the Elixir of Life! Someone who drank unicorn blood would probably be after a Philosopher's Stone, wouldn't they? It all fits!" Without waiting for a reply, Harry bolted off towards Hagrid's.

"Hagrid, who'd you get that dragon egg off of?" he panted as soon as he got there, bending over and putting his hands on his knees.

Hagrid, who looked quite startled by Harry's sudden appearance, answered, "I got it off a bloke I met down at the pub – you know, the Hog's Head."

"What did he look like?" Harry rushed on as a bewildered Ron and Hermione appeared from chasing him.

"I dunno, 'e kept 'is cloak on an' 'is hood up," said Hagrid, still bemused-looking.

Harry exchanged looks with Ron and Hermione, who finally seemed to catch on. Without waiting for a reply from Hagrid, the trio raced back up the hill towards Hogwarts.

They were just bolting past the greenhouses when Harry skidded to a halt and bent over double; his scar was hurting, and it was hurting a lot!

"Ouch!" he said, rubbing his forehead.

"What is it, Harry?" asked Hermione, concerned.

"It's my scar, it's really hurting."

"Has it ever hurt before like this, mate?" Ron asked.

"No, not like this… but it did twinge a bit the night Malfoy had his detention," Harry answered.

Ron and Hermione exchanged looks. "Come on, we've got to see Dumbledore," said Hermione. "We can ask him what it means."

Together the three of them raced into the castle. Just as Harry realized that they had no idea where Dumbledore might be, a voice rang out across the Entrance Hall: "What are you doing indoors?"

It was McGonagall, a pile of books tucked under her arm and a stern expression on her face.

"We – we need to see Professor Dumbledore," Harry said hesitantly.

McGonagall glared at them suspiciously. "See Professor Dumbledore?" she asked, as though it was an unsuitable request. "I'm sure anything you would want to say to Professor Dumbledore can be said to me. What is it?"

"We – we, um, we think that someone might – might want to steal the Philosopher's Stone," Harry stuttered.

The books McGonagall was holding tumbled out of her arms. Once she regained her composure, she snapped, "Well, I can assure you that the Stone is _very_ well protected. You need not worry. And Professor Dumbledore is not here at the school at the moment. He got a very important and urgent call from the Ministry." Her lips were thin, white, and pressed tightly together, not to mention her nostrils were flared – signs that she would not be any further convinced. Dejected, the trio wandered back outside, standing well away from the other students.

"Tonight," Harry muttered to Ron and Hermione. "Whoever or whatever that thing in the forest was, it's bound to go after the Stone with Dumbledore gone. I say we try and get to it first."

Later that night, when all the rest of the students had dispersed from the common room, Harry, Ron and Hermione stood ready in the middle of the room, the Invisibility Cloak tucked inside Harry's robes. Sneaking through the portrait hole, the threesome quickly ducked into the shadow of a nearby suit of armour and threw the Cloak hastily over themselves – they couldn't get through the portrait hole invisible, so they had to put it on outside. Harry had also brought the flute Hagrid had given him for Christmas – their large friend had let slip the teensy-weensy detail that you needed music to get past Fluffy.

Sneaking down the corridors and ever-shifting staircases, Harry, Ron and Hermione were on incredible edge. Every suit of armour looked like Filch, every distant breath of wind sounded like Peeves. When they finally reached the door to the third-floor corridor, they saw that it was ajar. Nervously creeping in, the three of them grouped around Fluffy, who sniffed around confusedly – he could smell them.

"Start playing, Harry," Ron whispered nervously. Harry put the flute to his lips and blew, awkwardly beginning to play the first tune that came to his head.

Fluffy's eyelids drooped from the first note. Soon enough, the humongous beast was fast asleep.

"Come on," muttered Hermione, pulling the Cloak off. "Let's go." She stepped over one of Fluffy's sprawled-out legs and pulled up the trapdoor, bending over it.

"It's a long drop," said Ron. "There's no ladder or anything, we're just going to have to jump. Who's going first?"

Harry, who was still playing the flute, waved his arms at himself.

"You sure?" Ron asked Harry, who nodded. "Alright, give the flute to Hermione then."

Harry passed the flute over as quickly as he could so as not to wake Fluffy up and, before he could work himself up, leapt through the hole. Down, down, down he dropped until…

_Flump. _Harry landed on some kind of soft, squishy surface, which felt sort of like a plant. "It's all right, you can jump!" he called up.

Ron and Hermione soon joined him. It wasn't until they did that he – or Ginny, rather – noticed it. (Ginny had insisted on staying up).

The plant was winding itself around their legs!

Hermione, who had been the last to land, managed to struggle to the edge of the plant and onto a ledge at the side, which led to a door. Harry and Ron, however, were both tightly bound to the plant's surface.

"What is it?" gasped Harry and Ron simultaneously.

"It's – it's Devil's Snare!" gasped Hermione. "I've read about it somewhere – but how do you kill it?" She looked panicked. "It – it likes the dark and the damp, so… so light a fire!" She whipped out her wand and pointed it at the Devil's Snare, whispering a hasty spell. Blue flames erupted from her wand, slashing at the tendrils of green wound around the two boys' legs, allowing them to stumble beside her to the ledge. Together, the threesome leapt towards the next door and flung it open.

"_Birds?" _asked Ron. "What the hell?"

The room appeared to be filled with hundreds of birds flying through the air – but there was something odd about them… they were too skinny and spindly, and they glittered as they soared through the air…

"They're not birds!" Harry realized aloud. "They're _keys!"_ He glanced around the room. "Look!" he said, pointing. "Broomsticks! We've got to catch the key to the door!"

After a long struggle, they managed to catch the right key – the only silver one – and slammed through that door, too. The next room was the spitting image of a giant chess set, the black pieces on their side of the chessboard.

"We've got to play our way across the board!" Ron announced, for once the first to figure something out.

Ron was in his element. "Hermione, you replace that castle," he ordered, taking the lead. "Harry, you replace that bishop over there. I'll be a knight."

The chess game was the most difficult obstacle yet – not to mention the most tedious one. However, they soon began to take the lead over the white pieces – but there was a catch.

"They've got to take me for us to win," a white-faced Ron said hollowly.

"No, you can't! There's got to be another way!" Hermione screeched, paling too.

"I've got to," said Ron with grim determination. "Then you'll be free to check the king, Harry." Harry shook his head, but Ron didn't listen. He strode forward and then to the side, and –

_Thump. _Ron fell to the floor with a thud. Hermione was about to run to him when Harry said, "No. Stay there." He took two shaky steps forward, facing the stone-faced white king head on and saying, "Checkmate." The king fell to the floor at Harry's feet.

Only then did Harry and Hermione race to Ron's side. "Ron!" Hermione yelled desperately.

It was no use. Ron was out cold. Ginny whimpered in Harry's head, worried for her brother. "We'll have to go on," Harry said to Hermione, trying to steady his voice. She just nodded helplessly.

The next room was a lot smaller than the other three, with a door at one end and a small shelf of potions in the middle. Harry and Hermione stepped hesitantly into the room and –

Flames erupted in front and behind them, stretching from wall to wall. The flames behind them were purple, and the flames in front of them were black.

Hermione stepped cautiously forward to the shelf of potions and picked up a small white note from the shelf, appearing to read something written on it.

"It's a logic puzzle!" she announced gleefully. "I can figure this out, hang on…" She began muttering to herself.

Finally, she announced, "I know!"

"What?" asked Harry curiously.

"This one," said Hermione, plucking a bottle from the shelf, "will allow you to walk safely through the purple flames without harm. And _this_ one," she plucked another bottle off the shelf, "will let you walk through the black flames safely and without harm." She smiled triumphantly.

Harry looked in the bottle she had said would take you through to the next room and said dubiously, "There's only enough for one of us in here."

The two of them looked at each other. "You go," said Hermione resignedly.

Harry nodded and accepted the bottle as she passed it to him.

"Well, here goes," Hermione said before tipping up the bottle into her mouth.

"Now, go and get Ron, and fly up past the Devil's Snare with brooms from the flying-key room and send a note to Dumbledore at the Owlery. Hurry!"

Hermione nodded and, taking a deep breath, walked straight through the purple fire.

Harry glanced down at the tiny bottle in his hands. Staring at it, he finally took a small sip and shuddered. It tasted like ice!

Before he could change his mind and get stuck here, Harry walked head-on into the flames.

_Who is it, Harry? Is it Snape or Quirrell? _Ginny asked.

"It's…"

**-- -- --**

Quirrell. He turned as soon as Harry entered the room, smiling an ugly, twisted smile. "Ah, Harry," he said. "I thought you might be here. Are you surprised it was me?"

Harry shuddered – Quirrell's tone was cold and sharp, without even the faintest tremble. "Not really," he answered finally, after he got over the initial shock of Quirrell's voice change.

Quirrell's face seemed to twist even more, if that was possible. "Lies!" he said. "How'd you guess?"

"At the Quidditch match," Harry said, fighting to steady his own voice. "Hermione said she knocked you over before casting that spell on Snape."

Quirrell sneered. "Yes, your little friend broke my eye contact," he snapped. "You would've been off your broom long before that if it hadn't've been for Snape muttering his little counter-curse." He looked livid as he mentioned the name, but then seemed to brighten – that in itself was a horrid sight. "But then, it was very useful. Next to Snape, who would suspect _me?"_

Quirrell then turned away again, and Harry realized with a jolt what was behind him – the Mirror of Erised!

_What's the Mirror of Erised? _Ginny asked.

_It's this mirror – it shows you what you want most in the world – hang on, the Stone must be inside it! Quirrell wants it more than anything else at the moment, so he'll see the Stone! _Harry half-answered, half-realized. Meanwhile, as he was figuring this out, Quirrell had been muttering to himself. And then –

"To get the Stone… Use the boy…" uttered the most terrible voice Harry had ever heard in his whole life. Or had he…?

"Boy!" snapped Quirrell. "Get over here! Look in the mirror and tell me what you see!" And Harry felt his feet moving against his will, carrying him towards the mirror. He stood in front of it, legs trembling, and saw…

The Stone! There he was, reflected in the glass, his reflection's hand putting the Stone into his pocket – and suddenly, a _real weight _fell into his pocket! He had the Stone!

"Now, what do you see?" demanded Quirrell.

_You'll have to lie, _Ginny warned.

_I know, _Harry answered, then said aloud, "I… I see myself holding the House Cup. I've won it for Gryffindor."

For a moment it looked like Quirrell believed him… but then that high, cold voice issued from… from his turban? "He lies…"

Flames erupted suddenly all around the room, trapping Harry. Quirrell smiled nastily and said, "You've got the Stone, haven't you?" Harry shook his head vehemently, but in vain.

"Let me see him…" said that terrible voice.

"Master, you are not strong enough," Quirrell insisted.

"I am strong… enough… for this…" the voice said.

Quirrell nodded, and then turned. He began to unwind the turban on his head, slowly, carefully. And then…

The most horrible, twisted grey face that Harry had ever seen stared out at Harry with slitlike red eyes. It opened its mouth and said, "Harry Potter… you see what I have become?"

It was Voldemort. There was no doubt about it.

Harry gasped without making a sound, swallowing hard. "Kill him!" Voldemort ordered.

Harry broke into a run, but there was nowhere to run to. Cornered against a wall of hissing and spitting flame, he felt Quirrell's hands close around his neck…

And all of a sudden, those hands withdrew, blistering and red raw. Quirrell couldn't touch his bare skin!

"With a curse, with a curse!" gasped Voldemort. Quirrell withdrew his wand and pointed it straight between Harry's eyes, but on instinct, Harry lurched forward and seized Quirrell's head…

It was painful, and Harry felt that his scar would burst open from the effort, but he held on desperately, watching Quirrell's skin burn away before his eyes…

And then everything went black.

Molly Weasley had never been more scared in her life. She had been lying in her bed, watching the clock tick to midnight and waiting for her overworked husband to come home from Merlin only knows how many raids, when she heard a sudden, unexpected scream coming from her only daughter's room.

She had then rushed straight down there, only to see, to her shock and horror, her daughter lying on the floor and convulsing terribly, clutching her head. She had run straight to the fireplace and, in her haste, grabbed _way _to much Floo powder, but Dumbledore's office was empty. She hadn't even been this frightened when she had found her youngest and only girl unconscious in the woods with Harry Potter… her daughter was clearly in pain. Not knowing what to do and having tried every healing spell she knew of, Molly simply stared with wide, tear-filled eyes as her daughter gave a great, shuddering gasp and went limp, hands still on her forehead.

**-- -- --**

Albus Dumbledore had a lot to think about. It had been a long few days, that was for sure.

First, he had returned from a false alarm from the Ministry to find Professor Quirrell dead and Harry Potter with the Philosopher's Stone in his pocket. He had taken Harry straight to the hospital wing and Floo-called Nicolas Flamel immediately.

After a long while, they and Nicolas' wife Perenelle, both of which were over six hundred years old, had decided to destroy the fabled stone. Albus had said his last farewell to his dear old friend quite downhearted.

That wasn't the most puzzling thing, however. Shortly after his goodbye to his dear old partner in alchemy, a new face had poked through his fireplace – the face of Molly Weasley, who claimed that her daughter had fallen unconscious, screaming, for no apparent reason. The most interesting thing was that this had happened at the exact same time of Harry's showdown with Quirrell.

After explaining everything that had happened to Harry, Albus now had plenty of time to wonder about the strange friendship between Harry and Ginny. He had been there the night that Harry had seen the Mirror of Erised, and had been quite surprised when he saw the picture of Ginny and Harry with a baby. Also, there was the fishy thing that despite their instantaneous friendship, not one letter had been sent between the two friends, save for the identical Christmas presents.

Albus sighed. He had his suspicions about Harry and Ginny, but not enough proof to support these suspicions. He would have to watch them very closely next year, when Ginny came to school.

Harry and Ginny were both as nervous and excited as each other. For the first time in nine months, they would be seeing each other in person! Harry couldn't concentrate as he half-played Exploding Snap with Ron, Hermione looking on at their games.

Finally, after what seemed like years to Harry and Ginny both, the train slowed to a stop. Harry was the first off the train, scanning the mob of people on the platform for his red-headed soul mate. And then –

A blur of red tackled him to the ground. _"Harry!" _a voice both said in his mind and squealed out loud.

She was almost as tall as him now, and her hair was longer and wavier. Harry blinked twice as he took in every detail of her, and together they walked up to Mrs. Weasley.

"We're bringing you back with us, dear," she said forlornly. "You can eat dinner at the Burrow and then go back, okay?"

Harry nodded. _You shouldn't have to go back to the Dursleys at all, _Ginny said.

_I know, _answered Harry. _But I'll see you every day. And you know how we're not allowed to use magic? _

_Yeah, _Ginny said.

_Dudley doesn't know that._

**Author's Note: Before you review me with the question I know you're all waiting to ask, note this: Harry has momentarily forgotten about the Trace no longer existing on him. Will he remember? You'll have to read the next chapter to find out! Muahahahahahahahaha! On my old story heaps of people reviewed just to ask about that, so I thought I'd clear that up. I put this author's note at the end of the chappie rather than at the start in case someone new to the fic didn't know what I was talking about. Anyway, please review, people! I can't believe I've forgotten to ask that in the last few updates - I must be sick or something! Anyway, please review, because they really _do_ keep me motivated to update faster. I know readers find that a whole bunch of codswallop - hell, I sure did before I started writing - but reviews really _do_ motivate people, so please? **

**Thanks for reading,**

**SapphireDragon92.**


	5. Reconciliations and Justice

**Disclaimer: HOW MANY TIMES MUST I SAY IT? I AM NOT J.K. ROWLING AND THEREFORE DO NOT OWN HARRY POTTER, HOWEVER MUCH I WISH I DID! (grumbles wistfully).**

**Author's Note: Hi all! I bet you're surprised that I updated so fast! Just don't expect it to happen again. I'm now on a five-day holiday and will have no time to write, and when I get home I'll have one day free before school starts up again (damn!) Anyway, I had a major plot bunny on rampage in my mind and couldn't rest 'till this was all written down! Also, this is my longest chapter yet - woot, woot - so you better reward me with some good ol' motivating reviews. Adios. **

Harry stared gloomily at the kitchen bench that he stood in front of, too distracted by his thoughts to notice that he was burning the sausages he was meant to be making for lunch

Harry stared gloomily at the kitchen bench that he stood in front of, too distracted by his thoughts to notice that he was burning the sausages he was meant to be making for lunch. It was roughly a week before his birthday, and the month-and-three-quarters of summer holidays that had passed so far had been pretty uneventful and repetitive – not to say that he didn't enjoy them, of course…

Until now. He was pretty sure that this was all about to change – something he and Ginny both agreed wholeheartedly on, due to the unfortunate circumstances. His Uncle Vernon was hosting a very important business dinner that, if it succeeded, would benefit not only his entire company, but him as well. If he was successful in his endeavour, then the promotion would be 'beneficial' to all of the Dursleys, so with his uncle's prominent dislike of him, it was understandable that Vernon did not want Harry to have anything to do with the proceedings.

When he had first heard this, Harry had been ecstatic. He was careful to school his features as he dropped a casual hint that he could 'disappear' for a few hours while the deal was taking place. Uncle Vernon, however, was convinced that Harry would attempt to meddle with things by throwing rocks through the window and the like, so he had not taken to Harry's devious plan to get himself more time to spend with Ginny and Ron. Harry had not been able to stop himself from visibly deflating, which fired Vernon up all the more.

Also, because of this stupid deal, Harry was forced to deal with the fact that his uncle had been given a day of work to 'prepare' his house for the meeting. And to top it all off, Dudley had randomly and baselessly decided to have a break from his 'friends' – a bunch of miscreants that had greatly influenced Dudley for the worse. They were even more fat and stupid than Dudley was, which meant that unlike at Little Whinging, Dudley was not the leader of his little group. This had not affected Harry while he had been at Hogwarts, but now…

Harry sighed heavily. The long days Vernon had to work at this branch of Grunnings and the equally long days that Dudley spent scaring little children and throwing rocks at things with his so-called 'friends' had turned out to be a blessing in disguise for him. He hadn't noticed this during the first ten or so years of his life, but his Aunt Petunia had never been nearly as horrid to Harry as her husband and son always were, and now that they weren't here for most of the day, his lifestyle had greatly improved. By no means was she directly nice to him, but she did turn a blind eye to the days he spent away from the house which closely matched her husband's working hours, and she also did not give him any chore, other than a few random things that most children his age were expected to do. These relatively simple tasks were not time-consuming, nor did they cut into the time Harry reserved for spending with his soulmate, best mate and their family.

Harry also noticed several other things about his aunt that he previously had not – for one thing, she was always much harsher to him when her husband and son were around, almost as if her horrid treatment of him was actually caused by the expectations of the two male Dursleys. This would also explain why he had never noticed this change in her behaviour before they had moved here – his uncle's working schedule had coincided with his school hours, and the only time he had around his aunt was also spent around his uncle. Proof of this thought was provided in the way she treated him now that Dudley and Vernon were home in contrast to how she acted around him when they were gone.

This was not the only thing he was noticing just recently. There were only two explanations that Harry could think of for this 'new' thing – one was that it had only started very recently, and the other was that he had simply been too young to notice this beforehand; this other change in Petunia's actions was that Vernon wasn't treating her right.

Never before had Harry had enough exposure to other couples, so Harry had always believed that the cold tenseness between his aunt and uncle, as well as the now-obvious lack of affection, was normal for a long-married couple. But after seeing the affection between Ginny's parents, as well as the concern-based, frequent questions Molly always asked about Arthur's work days to make sure he had kept safe, Harry had begun to wonder why Vernon and Petunia were not like that around one another. After some careful, cunning investigations that would have made Slytherin house proud (if not for the fact that these investigations regarded Muggles, of course), Harry had managed to procure some evidence that the relationship of Vernon and Petunia Dursley was not as fine and dandy as they tried to pass it off to be.

At some point, Harry wondered why he cared so much about the relationship of two relatives he supposedly hated. Hate was a strong word, though, and Aunt Petunia had never done quite enough to constitute usage of that word by Harry in reference to her. Perhaps he wanted so badly a parental figure other than the parent of a friend/soulmate or a school teacher that he was willing to forgive Petunia for her past deeds in a vain attempt to get her to act somewhat motherly to him. Regardless of why, though, Harry had gone ahead with his investigation anyway, without any more second (or rather, third) thoughts on the matter.

Firstly, there was the way that Petunia always seemed to have overly shiny eyes whenever she left the master bedroom of their house after one of their 'talks'. Then there was the telltale flinch whenever he so much as looked at her when they talked in sight of others, not to mention the fear in her eyes. There was the way she shied away from physical contact with him whenever possible, and the little shudders whenever he brushed past her. Also, she seemed to be avoiding him lately.

All of this pointed to the fact that Vernon wasn't treating his wife like she should be treated; Harry would even go as far as to say that he was being borderline abusive. He'd never found any evidence to the contrary. But – Harry wondered if 'borderline' was as far as things actually went. He'd never found proof of physical abuse, like a bruise, but those telltale flinches were becoming far more frequent with each passing day.

Harry was brought back to earth by a sudden, unpleasant jolt in the form of a nasty noseful of smoke. Cursing quietly, he turned of the stove as quickly as he could and glared at the sausages as though it was their own fault they were burned, which was absurd, of course. He bit back a mournful sigh as he turned expectantly to the kitchen door.

His aunt and uncle would have burst through the door at the same time if it weren't for his uncle's ample weight – as it was, Harry's aunt was a mere step behind him. "BOY!" his uncle yelled glaring angrily at his nephew. "WHAT'VE YOU DONE NOW?!"

Harry's small, withering hope of a reconciliation with his aunt flared when he saw his aunt wince at the scream directed at her nephew. Trying not to dwell on this, he directed his gaze toward his uncle instead, and mumbled quietly, "I… um…" without much conviction.

His uncle snorted at the pathetic reply. "Chuck those out and make something else. You'll regret this, boy. Now we have to get more sausages. If you had money, you'd be paying for them." His uncle's voice was very patronizing, and he didn't seem to sound much like himself. Harry attributed this to the stress of the looming meeting tonight. He nodded tersely at his uncle, and this, for some reason, seemed to infuriate the whale-sized man even more. After throwing one more commanding glare at his nephew, Vernon left the room rather ungraciously.

Harry detected the slightest spark of sympathy in the gaze that Petunia fixed upon him before his aunt schooled her features and hid her eyes behind the cold, icy mask she usually managed to keep fixed there. She spoke to him in a cold, careless-seeming voice, as if she was attempting to convince herself that she didn't care for the boy in the slightest in order to keep her mask up. "You are to clean up after yourself when you are done cooking in here. Your lunch will be some of those burnt sausages. You are then to wash the car and report back to me. Depending on how long that takes you, I may or may not give you more chores. You will then eat the dinner I provide you and go straight to your room. Do not leave your room while the guests are here – I would advise that you go to the bathroom before they arrive and take a drink up to your room with you." She then turned on her heel and walked brusquely away.

Morosely, Harry set about to doing the things his aunt asked him to do, stashing the remaining burnt sausages in his small 'bedroom' (the minuscule study) in case he got locked in there anytime soon. Before he knew it, he had consumed the plain cheese sandwiches Aunt Petunia had prepared for him, filling a plastic bottle with water to take up to his room and quickly making use of the bathroom on the way to his bedroom. Flinging open his bedroom door, Harry closed it behind him in time to hear a firm knock on the door. Resigned to a boring night with nothing to do but homework and conversations with Ginny (while he would enjoy talking to his soulmate, it was nothing compared to being with her in person) he turned to flop down onto his bed…

Only to find that someone was already sitting on it.

-- -- --

Harry's eyes widened in shock when they fell upon the small creature that was bouncing on the small bed in which he slept. He'd never seen a creature quite like this one. Its eyes were green and bulging, easily the size of tennis balls. Bat-like ears protruded from its very small head, which was not unlike a withered piece of fruit. The creature was mostly skin and bones, and had funny-coloured skin. It was garbed in a filthy, ragged pillowcase that had certainly seen better days, and was staring up at Harry with an odd, disconcerting gaze that was a mixture of reverence and fear – emotions not usually associated with one another but for the rarest of circumstances.

And I thought my clothes were bad, thought Harry.

Ginny, who had just finished playing a chess game against Ron and was trying desperately to escape from his gloating, was jerked back into Harry's mind with that unusual statement. What do you mea- oh… what the hell is this, Harry?

I was hoping you could tell me, was Harry's response. Resigned to only discovering what, in fact, this strange creature was, only by asking, Harry opened his mouth, about to ask this very question. Ginny, however, effectively stopped him by 'raising' her mind-voice so that she performed the mind equivalent of a scream.

Harry! You can't just go asking it what it is! That's really rude! Ask 'who' instead of 'what', that'll be more considerate, Ginny half-admonished, half-commanded.

To his utter shock and horror, after following Ginny's advice and speaking as politely as he could, the creature burst into loud, wailing sobs which grated on Harry's nerves. I should've just been rude! he told Ginny, who was torn between giggling and being angry at Harry. Harry then turned to the problem at hand – getting the creature to be bloody quiet!

"Um… could you, ah, please be, um, a little… quieter…?" he managed to ask. Nice one, Harry, he said to himself. At this, Ginny snorted at the stupidity of talking to yourself when there was someone else in your head to talk to. Thankfully, his Quirrell-worthy comment was effective in its purpose, reducing the strange little creature to but a sniffle. The fear in those tennis-ball-like eyes disappeared and the reverence doubled. This did not, however, make the creature's gaze any less disconcerting – in fact, it made it even more so. Having someone look at you with that much admiration when you didn't even know why was just plain weird.

"Oh, goodness! The great Harry Potter is as good and kind- of-heart as he is great. Who would have known?" shrieked the strange creature. At this, Ginny gave a strangled snort of laughter and Harry flushed crimson, both at the same time.

The small, strange creature gave Harry an odd, twisted smile and, remembering Harry's earlier question of who he was, gave him an answer; "I is Dobby, kind sir – Dobby the house elf." Harry looked at the small creature in front of him with surprise; Ginny had told him about the unfair and sometimes even cruel treatment that house elves received from their masters. Suddenly understanding the elf's shock at his politeness, as well as the horrid pillowcase that clothes his malnourished body. Why didn't you know he was a house elf? he asked Ginny, confused and a little accusing.

I didn't know, confessed Ginny. I've learnt a lot about house elves – some from books and some from what Mum has told me, but I've never actually seen one. She seemed a little peeved at the accusing tone behind his voice.

Oh, sorry, said Harry.

Suddenly, and quite out-of-the-blue (or at least it was out-of-the-blue to Harry and Ginny, who had been deep in conversation with one another) Dobby announced, "Oh, Dobby did not think this would happen. Oh, Harry Potter, you is a very special boy, you is. You is having a mind-partner at such a young age. It is wonderful!"

Harry gaped at the tiny elf in shock and amazement, while Ginny's startled gasp resounded through their minds. Finally Harry managed to stutter, "H-how do y-you know?" while a whirlwind of jumbled thoughts flitted across Harry and Ginny's mind-connection as they stared at the elf, Harry physically and Ginny through Harry's eyes.

Dobby smiled mysteriously and slyly at the twelve-year-old, and pronounced, "I is seeing this in your aura, sir. All house elves have the ability to see auras, and evidence of a mind-partner shows in one's aura and magical signature, sir." Dobby stared solemnly up at Harry, eyes cautious but unwavering.

Harry's jaw dropped. His eyes, an even more pronounced green than Dobby's, widened like dinner plates as he thought, Wow. There's a hell of a lot of things that wizards don't know about house elves. They're completely underestimated!

It's probably like that with all the other magical races. Using wands has lulled wizards into a false sense of supremacy and, in their narrow-minded idiocy, they've overlooked the incredible magic that the other races possess. One day it'll come back to bite them all in the arse… except, it seems, us. Now we know. Ginny's reply showed a level of maturity far beyond her age, which was most likely a side-effect of the soul bond she shared with Harry.

Wow, Gin, that was deep… but true. Wizards tend to be really biased, don't they? Harry answered. Ginny gave a mental grunt as a reply.

"And Harry Potter is talking to his mind-partner now," Dobby said excitedly. "It is phenomenal, it is!" He stared up at Harry with those goddamned reverence-filled eyes. Again, for what seemed like the billionth time that night, Harry's eyes widened and his jaw dropped in shock and amazement. These emotions were becoming quite common for him that night.

"H-how did you kn-know this, D-Dobby?" Harry managed to get out in an again Quirrell-worthy stutter.

"Small magical pulses is released off of your aura when you is talking to your mind-partner in your head," explained Dobby. "Also, you is very, very distracted."

Nobody would notice the magical pulses unless they had aural sight, which is really rare for a witch or wizard, Ginny announced. But we've got to try not to seem so distracted when we're talking to each other. Ron was giving me funny looks before, so I went up to my room to talk to you. She seemed worried. We don't want anyone finding out about this, okay? Dumbledore probably has his suspicions already, knowing our luck.

I know, Harry agreed. You fainting, screaming and clutching your forehead at the same time that I fought Quirrell and Voldemort doesn't help either.

It wasn't as if I could help it! Ginny exclaimed indignantly. She was about to continue on in a tirade of curses, but Dobby interrupted, again seemingly out-of-the-blue, with a somewhat startling comment.

"Harry Potter must not go back to Hogwarts."

-- -- --

Harry stared disbelievingly at the little house-elf that stood before him. Dumbfounded, he said, "But-but Hogwarts is my home! Besides, what about Ginny?" That last part was said in a rather indignant and defiant tone.

"This Ginny is your mind-partner, yes?" asked Dobby.

Harry nodded in confirmation, so the elf continued, "Then it would be best for this Ginny to stay away from Hogwarts too." Harry nodded dumbly before realising what he had done and exclaiming, "Why!"

"There is evil at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, sir. You and your mind-partner must stay away to keep safe." Dobby spoke in a grave tone.

Harry shook his head, defiance beginning to creep into him and override his common sense. Ginny tried to stop him, but Harry shut her out, which incensed the fiery redhead. Harry fed off of this emotion from Ginny, which fuelled his anger even more.

"NO!" he half-yelled, much too loudly. His anger had clouded his judgement, and thus he had forgotten about the rule that had governed his behaviour that night – "Make sure you're quiet and pretend you don't exist." Stupid.

"Very well," said Dobby in that same grave tone. "If Harry Potter will not stay away from his school willingly, then Dobby must stop him." Before Harry could react, Dobby was already out of his bedroom door and partway down the stairs.

Cursing his horrid luck, Harry gave chase after the small, strange house elf. By the time he was down the stairs, Dobby was staring wide-eyed at the large white-iced cake before his eyes. And, then, to Harry's immense horror, Dobby clicked his fingers, and the cake rose from the table.

"No." Ginny and Harry both said this at the same time, aloud. With another click of his fingers, the large cake was floating across the kitchen toward the living-room door, which promptly opened by an invisible force. Giving Harry a small, regret-filled shrug, Dobby clicked his fingers again and vanished from the vicinity.

He knew that something was going to happen that night… he just hadn't known exactly how bad. Harry tiptoed stealthily toward the cake, but it was to no avail. The cake was already hovering over the head of a regal-looking old woman, who sat next to an equally regal-looking old man. Neither of them seemed to notice the cake suspended over the woman's head, but the Dursleys, sitting on the lounge that was facing him, could see the cake – and also the horrified twelve-year-old who was attempting (albeit in vain) to snatch the cake out of the air.

And then it happened. The cake, sitting several inches above the head of the impossibly prim woman like some sort of demented crown, fell right out of the air and, with a muffled squelch, landed on the woman's head.

-- -- --

Harry glared at the bars on the window, his anger not dissuaded in the slightest by the three days that had already passed since the fiasco. Horrified by the cake which, according to the Dursleys, had been dropped on her head by their disturbed nephew. Needless to say, his uncle had not received the deal he'd been attempting to receive.

Wholeheartedly blaming Harry and seemingly ignoring the fact that it seemed as if they weren't going to get the deal anyway, Vernon had applied bars to Harry's window by use of one of his 'beloved' drills, as well as affixing a cat-flap and a bolt to Harry's bedroom door. This door remained bolted except for once in the morning and once in the evening, when Harry was let out to use the bathroom. Meagre meals like sandwiches and microwave soups were passed through the cat-flap three times a day at precise times, and he was also provided with a small bottle of room temperature water every day, with naught else to eat or drink.

Harry's trunk had been locked away in the third bedroom of the house, which was reserved for guests, as Harry had not been provided with this bedroom in favour of the small study in which he spent pretty much his whole day. Harry had, however, been smart enough to empty most of the contents of his trunk into a loose floorboard underneath his small, rickety metal bed. This was the first thing he had done after the 'Fiasco With the Cake', as he deemed it. He'd suspected a punishment along the lines of being locked into his room, and thus had acted appropriately.

It was, however, not as bad as it seemed like it would be at first. Vernon, who was a hair's breadth away from getting fired over losing out on this important deal, did not allow this while he was home – but when he was not, the meals provided by his Aunt Petunia were significantly more substantial, and she had even let him out after he'd eaten lunch to go to the bathroom once. She never said anything when she did this, instead preferring to look away and pretend like she wasn't doing anything at all that her husband would not approve of, even though it was obvious he would not.

Ginny was incensed about the fact that he was locked up in his room like this. She was not impressed at all about Petunia's deeds, saying that if she truly wanted to do something for Harry, then she should let him out entirely and tell him to run away before Vernon and Dudley got back. Realising that his soulmate had not noticed the investigations Harry had performed regarding his aunt's welfare, so Harry explained to her his theory. She'd still seemed a little miffed, but when Harry had explained that she wasn't helping him more than she was because she was afraid of what Vernon would do to her if he found out – he'd be horrified as things were – she seemed to have calmed down some. This is a real stretch even for her, Harry had said.

Now, however, she'd had enough. You're not the only one, Harry told her ruefully, but he soon discovered that was a mistake – in an attempt to settle her down, he'd only put fuel on the fire.

That's it, she snarled. I'm getting you out of there.

Ignoring Harry's protests, which soon ceased after he realised that the prospect of getting Ginny Weasley to stop when she had her mind set on something was futile, Ginny forcefully put a barrier into place between their minds so that he did not know what her plan was. He could vaguely tell that she was talking to her mother about something, but he could not actually hear what the two Weasley women were saying.

After a semi-long conversation with her mother, Ginny let down the barrier but pointedly ignored Harry when he asked what she was going to do. Is your uncle home yet? Ginny asked.

After a pointless mind-struggle in which Ginny came out victorious, Harry defeatedly said, No. He won't get back for another hour.

OK. What's your address? was Ginny's next question.

Taken aback by the unexpected question, Harry replied nervously, You're not going to come over here, are you?

Just tell me your damn address! Ginny snapped back.

Gin… He tried to dissuade her by using a calming tone and his pet name for her (which only he and Bill were allowed to use), but Ginny wasn't having any of that.

Tell me, she growled. Harry knew that her anger wasn't directed at him, but it was still disconcerting to hear her use a tone of anger when she spoke to him in their minds. Giving another sigh of defeat, Harry told her his address.

That had better be the right one, mister. And with that, she withdrew from his mind once again, pushing up that horrid barrier that Harry wanted nothing more than to smash it to pieces so that he could talk to her again.

-- -- --

Sighing, Harry rolled fitfully over on his bed, rubbing his eyes and straightening his glasses so as to resume staring at the ceiling. He had been entertaining himself in this way for the past hour. Ginny was preoccupied with some crazy rescue mission that was doomed to fail and leave him even worse off than before, and he'd finished nigh on all of his homework, so he had nothing to do. Deciding that the ceiling was boring, Harry turned his attention to his alarm clock, and was relieved to see that an hour had indeed passed. His revelation coincided with his uncle barging into the front door – his study bedroom was close to directly over this area, and thus he could hear all the goings-on down in that area of the house.

"Ruddy idiots," his uncle was saying. "On probation… I'll give you probation." He sounded really pissed off and scorned – a very bad thing for Harry. Hell hath no fury like Uncle Vernon on probation.

Less than a minute later, he felt Ginny's mind-barriers recede and, straight to business as always, she asked, Is your uncle home yet? She didn't seem to be as angry as before – perhaps Mrs. Weasley had managed to calm her daughter down – but Ginny being even semi-calm was worse than most people's full-blown rage.

Yeah, he got home about a minute ago. Why?

Ignoring the question Harry had tagged onto the end of his answer – Harry had not expected her to answer the question anyway – Ginny spoke directly to her father, "We can go now."

Mystified and confused, Harry focused on his soulmate's eyesight and saw quite a shocking sight – Mr. Weasley was, for some strange reason that Harry could not quite comprehend, dressed in a neat Muggle suit and looking quite confused as to why.

"Ginny, what exactly is it you want me to do?" Mr. Weasley asked his daughter apprehensively. "And why did you ask me to conjure up a Muggle suit for me to wear?"

Ginny hesitated, wondering whether or not she should let Harry listen in to what she was about to say. Finally reasoning that he'd find out soon, and also deciding that no matter what he said she'd stick with her plan, she told her dad about what she was going to do.

-- -- --

Harry lay upon the study floor, ear pressed firmly against the ground just above the living area. He had tried to talk Ginny out of what she and her dad were going to do, but Ginny was as determined as ever. He was also partly disappointed – when Ginny had told her parents that he was undergoing very unfair treatment and told them of the plan they had concocted, they'd been incredibly suspicious. Harry had a funny feeling that his and Ginny's soul bond wouldn't stay secret for long.

At long last, he heard the telltale knock at the front door. He was going to half-listen to the conversation physically from up in his room whilst also watching and listening through his and Ginny's mind-link – that way he wouldn't miss anything. He waited as he heard his uncle grumbling as he stomped towards the door. If all went according to plan, Harry would never have to suffer his uncle's horrible treatment again.

"Hello," Mr. Weasley said politely, though you could tell that the politeness was completely and utterly forced.

"Who the hell are you?" Vernon said very rudely, glaring at the man who had disrupted his 'precious' TV-watching time. "Well, get on with it!"

Mr. Weasley sounded slightly pained as he said to Harry's uncle, "I am a part of the Child Protection Agency, and have received notification that you may be mistreating a child."

Harry tensed, waiting for an explosion, and heard Vernon practically scream, "My Dudders is a very well-treated boy!" and attempt to slam the door in Mr. Weasley's face. The balding red-headed man was prepared for this, though, and made sure his foot was in the way of the door's path to close.

"But you've got two children registered for living here. You only mentioned one," said Mr. Weasley, who sounded like he was fighting to keep calm.

Harry could practically hear his uncle bristle with indignance. "My nephew isn't even registered," he sneered.

"Might I ask why your nephew is not registered? That's illegal," Mr. Weasley stated, voice filled with forced calm. "Also, if I have reason to believe that a child is being mistreated, I am authorised to enter your household and investigate the matter."

Again, Harry almost heard his uncle bristle. "I will not allow it!" he snarled. "You will not be entering my house!"

"The law allows me to, and you basically admitted that you had broken the law by saying yourself that you had not registered the boy," Mr. Weasley announced. "You must move now."

Harry could not see his uncle, but he knew that if he could, there would be a very panicked look on his face. Mr. Weasley, however, was not having any of that. Somehow, he had managed to budge Vernon's incredible bulk – an impressive feat in itself – and enter the house. He heard footsteps on the stairs as Mr. Weasley ascended them, and also a pair of lighter footsteps that clearly belonged to Ginny.

"What's that girl doing in my house?" Vernon said, apparently realising that he could not get Mr. Weasley out of the house, and he would do better to simply steer them away from the study.

"This is my daughter, Ginny. I'm bringing her here because I want her to see some of my work in action, so she understands what I do. My boss has let me bring her around," said Mr. Weasley. "She's not leaving, so don't bother trying to get her to."

Ginny didn't bother to spare this man so much as a glance. She had never met him before, but she might as well have because of her soul bond with Harry, and she hated the man so much that it was almost as though he had done all the things he'd done to Harry to her.

Vernon gave a sort of an out-of-character, haughty sniff and said nothing. When Mr. Weasley turned to look in the study, however, he sidestepped in front of the man and said nervously and rather hastily, "There's nothing in there!"

"Is that so?" Mr. Weasley asked. "Then why exactly is there a cat-flap in the door?" He had betrayed the first hint of emotion in his voice – disgust.

"I…err…" said Vernon, obviously not smart enough to come up with a fast excuse. Again managing to sidestep the much-too-large man (which was even more impressive this time than the last due to the fact that Vernon took up most of the hallway), Mr. Weasley walked straight up to the door and stared, horrified, at the bolt on the door. Harry could now see the fatherly man that he often looked up to through the cat-flap.

Still looking shocked and disgusted, Mr. Weasley unlocked the bolt on the door and flung it open. Showing quite up-to-scratch acting skills, he knelt down next to Harry, who was slowly pushing himself upright and standing, and said, "Hello, young man. Who might you be?"

Mr. Weasley, of course, knew exactly who Harry was, but could obviously not show any recognition. Catching on and following his example, Harry said quietly, "It's Harry, sir."

Mr. Weasley nodded. "Could you tell me why you were bolted into a room with a cat-flap?"

Harry shrugged, feigning confusion even though his heart was beating wildly. "I messed up a drilling deal for my uncle, so he locked me in here, sir. I get let out twice a day to go to the bathroom and three meals a day are passed through the cat-flap for me to eat." He tried to act as though this was a perfectly normal thing to happen – this wasn't too hard, since it actually was.

"Has this happened before?" asked a horrified Mr. Weasley.

"Not here, sir. We used to live in a different house, and he'd lock me in the cupboard if I did funny things. I guess I'm lucky this time, 'cause I get food."

Mr. Weasley's eyes widened at this declaration and he stared at Harry for a few seconds, disgust shining plainly in his eyes. Going along with this, Harry shrank back slightly and said, "I'm sorry, sir."

"Why on earth do you need to be sorry?!" Mr. Weasley exclaimed.

"You have disgust in your eyes, sir… I'm sorry." Harry said this with conviction. "Was I too rude?" He gave a slight quiver, as if he were waiting for punishment in the form of a slap.

This quiver did not go unnoticed. Staring at Harry as if to ask why he hadn't told him about this before, he said – no longer acting – "What cupboard." He looked as tough he would kill Vernon with so much as a glare.

Shivering slightly, Harry told the father figure of a man before him about how he had once slept in the cupboard under the stairs, and the only reason he wasn't now was because there wasn't one at this house. If looks could kill, then Vernon Dursley would at this moment be, quite undeniably, dead.

-- -- --

It had been quite an eventful two days. After hearing Harry explain all of the things Vernon had done to him, Mr. Weasley had immediately contacted the real Child Protection Agency. He had then discreetly used some kind of spell to convince them that he did indeed work for this agency, and then Harry had been required to tell these Muggles what his uncle had done to him. This was a lot worse than having to tell Mr. Weasley, because these people were complete strangers.

They had then, after several more in-depth investigations, organised a court case for today. The rest of that day, as well as the next, was spent in a holding room for Vernon and, regrettably, Petunia.

The worst thing was that Harry was pretty sure that Vernon would get off pretty lightly, as he had never actually gone so far as to actually abuse Harry – sure, he'd been slapped before, but he had never gone any further than a hard smack, and child abuse was usually considered punching, kicking, and anything worse than that.

This was why Harry was going to visit Petunia. He was determined to ask her for the truth – and if Vernon really was abusing her physically, then his jail time would be much longer, which was certainly what he deserved.

Before he knew it, Harry stood before the door to Petunia's holding-room – thankfully a separate one to Vernon's. Petunia was the only one in it, so she and Harry could talk privately. Knocking softly on the door after a slight hesitation, Harry waited for the answer to his knock.

"Coming, coming," he heard the woman grumble – she was obviously expecting it to be someone bringing her food. Harry couldn't help but be reminded of his years before Hogwarts and the move, when Petunia would knock on the door to the cupboard under the stairs, telling him to get up. It was ironic, really, how their places were now reversed.

The door had been unlocked by one of the workers here, so when Petunia reached the door, she found that she could open it… and did so to look right in the face of her nephew.

"H-Harry?" she gasped in disbelief.

Harry gave a small, awkward half-smile. "Hi, Aunt Petunia. Can I come in?"

It was a flabbergasted woman who stepped aside to let Harry enter. He stepped inside to find a small room equipped with a toilet, sink and bed. It was small and plain but very clean, and the walls did not consist of bars, although there were bars nailed on the windows, which gave Harry painful memories, so he looked away from them.

His aunt's eyes boring into the back of his skull, Harry asked cautiously, "Can I sit down?" Hearing the quiet voice of assent from behind him, he sat upon the bed and turned to face his aunt, who had sat beside him, though not too close. Weighing his words carefully, he asked, "Did you ever really want to do what you did to me?"

His aunt gave a heavy sigh, and Harry was surprised to see the tears pricking her eyes. Finally, she replied quietly, "I doubt you'll believe me, but no. I didn't."

Hearing the words he had been wishing to hear for a while showed Harry a small ray of hope. "Really?" he asked, voice betraying his nervousness.

Petunia let out another heavy sigh. "No, Harry. I still doubt you'll believe me, and even if you do, I can understand if you still hold a grudge against me, but no. Your uncle was always very influential over me." She blinked several times to force back the tears that were welling in her eyes and threatening to spill over.

Harry nodded slowly. "Well, you may not believe me, but lately I've been noticing it. I'm sorry you have to be here, Aunt Petunia…"

Petunia had been looking dejectedly at her feet, but at this declaration her head shot up and her eyes widened. "You have?" she asked, as if not daring to believe it. Harry nodded.

"But… but you shouldn't be sorry, Harry. I may have never directly done anything to you, but I… I should've stood up for you. I shouldn't have let that… that…" Petunia seemed to be looking for a word to describe her husband properly, so Harry supplied her with one.

"Whale?"

Petunia gave a dry, weary chuckle. "Yes, that'll suffice, though calling Vernon a whale is insulting to whales." Harry laughed at this – who would've guessed that his aunt would be cracking a joke?

Petunia gave a soft laugh with Harry before sobering and even wincing slightly and rushing on, "I shouldn't have let him do that to you. I should've done something, I should've stopped him, I should've…"

She would have kept going if Harry hadn't cut over her. "It's not your fault, and besides, not stopping him shouldn't land you in jail. My uncle – though he is completely undeserving of the title – can be a very intimidating man, when he isn't being an idiot."

Petunia gave another dry chuckle, but her heart wasn't in it – you could tell. Harry quietened, remembering what he had come to do.

"Aunt Petunia…" he said, trying to decide how best to word his question so as not to be rebuked.

"Yes?" she asked, her voice soft. She seemed to sense that he was about to ask something serious, and acted accordingly.

"Has Vernon… has he ever done… done anything to you?" Harry asked seriously.

Petunia's eyes widened considerably. Her voice a mix of emotions, she said quietly, "H-how did you…"

Harry recognised this and said, "I've noticed you've been acting different around Vernon than my friend's mum does around her dad, and, well, I decided to look into that. I noticed you flinching and stuff, so…"

"So you drew your own conclusions. I must say, Harry… you're very mature for your age." Petunia seemed shocked… well, as she should be.

"So he has, then?" It was a fairly pointless question, but Harry wanted to confirm his suspicions.

Petunia let out yet another weary sigh and admitted, "Yes." Her hand twitched towards her left wrist, as if about to do something, before returning to where it rested in her lap.

"What is it?" asked Harry, noticing this. Petunia saw that he had noticed this involuntary twitch and sighed.

"Well, you are mature for your age…" Her decision made, she reached for her sleeve and pulled it up, twisting her hand to the side so that he could see the inside of her arm.

Harry gasped. He didn't know what he had been expecting, but it was certainly not this.

Small purple bruises about the size of fingerprints rose up her arm in various patterns. It was a truly shocking and horrifying sight. "V-Vernon did this?" he gasped.

Petunia nodded. She seemed to be incapable of doing anything else, which was understandable, of course. "You have to tell someone about this!" Harry exclaimed, the horror evident in his voice. "Tell the court! It isn't right!"

Petunia's eyes widened, and she shook her head hastily, gasping, "No! You can't!" She pulled her sleeve down over the bruises with an air of finality.

Harry swallowed hard, trying to figure out a way to convince her to do this. "Courts are almost always corrupt, and Vernon's lawyer is a good one," he said finally. "I honestly wouldn't be surprised to find that he gets away with the charges against him almost scot-free, despite how serious child neglect is. Showing the court these bruises is undeniable evidence, and he'll go to jail for as long as he deserves, which he certainly won't do without you showing your am to the court and giving the testimony." He said all this firmly, expressively and persuasively.

"B-but there are charges against me too," Petunia sniffled. "They won't listen to someone guilty."

"Oh yes they will," Harry said with conviction. "Besides, whether or not I even came to talk to you now, I would have supported you in my testimony. I'll tell them about how you only did the very few things you did to me because you were heavily influenced by whale-dude."

Petunia let out a soft giggle at that before saying, "You would really do that for me?" in an incredulous voice.

"Of course I would," he said. "You don't deserve jail. Whale-dude, on the other hand…" He left that sentence hanging.

Petunia sniffled again. "I truly am sorry for what I've done to you," she whispered. "I-I'll think about it." She looked him in the eyes when she said this, and Harry was confident that she truly would think about it. He could only hope that she made the right decision.

-- -- --

Harry's voice was raspy and full of nerves as he read out his testimony from his place in the court. He made sure to illustrate the hate he felt for his uncle, whilst making it obvious that he did not feel like that towards his aunt. He told the judge and jury about all the horrible thing his uncle had done, while making it clear that his aunt had never personally locked him in his cupboard/study, that she was the one who had provided him food when he was locked away by his uncle as well as letting him out to go to the bathroom, that she even did this more often when his uncle and cousin were out. He also clarified that she had never personally mistreated him, instead only giving him small chores that most children were expected to do anyway. When he sat down, he was fairly confident that he had gotten his message across to the judge and jury.

After his testimony, Vernon's lawyer began stating a list of far-fetched and idiotic comments in an attempt to make Vernon's horrid deeds seem less like horrid deeds and more like simple misunderstandings. Harry blinked back tears of fury, fists balling in his anger. He, of course, saw the lawyer's claims for what they truly were – a load of codswallop – but he was disgusted to see part of the jury nodding their heads in agreement. A few of the jury remained impassive, as did the judge, and some even shook their heads at the lawyer's folly, but he could see that the majority of the jury was on the lawyer's side – something which made Harry intensely furious. Finally, the lawyer was done, but so was the damage.

The charges against Vernon were being listed. Harry glanced over at Petunia, worried that she was not going to do anything. Thankfully, though, she seemed as though she was preparing herself - she looked nervous and was taking deep, shuddering breaths. Harry was too far away to say anything to her, but he caught her eye and gave an imperceptible nod. After one last deep breath to steady herself, she stood.

Everyone turned to look at Petunia as she, with a pained expression, announced; "If I may, I would like to bring one more charge to light."

Harry glanced first at Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, who looked surprised, and Vernon, who looked furious. Glancing back at Petunia, he noticed that she, too, had noticed this, and looked as though she was going to sit back down, but Harry caught her eye again and glared at her pointedly. This seemed to strengthen her.

Without using any words as explanation, she swiftly yanked up her sleeve to reveal the purple fingerprint-like bruises that crept up her arm. But she didn't stop there. Shocking Harry, she showed the court two more injuries which he presumed his 'uncle' had given her – a large, sickly grey bruise on the left crook of her neck, and a thin red scar which extended from hip to hip, crossing over the nape of her spine. This cut was worse even than the bruises, as Vernon must have used a sharp instrument to inflict it – something other than just his hands.

After a shocked silence inside the court, Vernon's lawyer bristled and snapped, "What is the meaning of this?" although most new what she was insinuating, and the lawyer was most probably just annoyed that it was pretty much a given that he had lost his case.

Petunia gave a weary sigh – weary sighs were becoming a sort of a trademark for her, Harry noticed – and clarified, though rather unnecessarily, "These injuries were inflicted upon me by my husband."

"And you are sure about this?" Vernon's lawyer, now thoroughly annoyed, said.

Petunia nodded and spoke her assent. "Yes."

"She lies!" The court now turned as one to look at Vernon, who had stood and was red-faced with anger.

Now Vernon's lawyer looked back at him and said, face impassive but clearly hopeful that the case could be salvaged and a loss prevented, "Would you like to elaborate on this?"

Vernon nodded. Had he been thinner, the veins would be protruding from his neck, but as it was, ample flesh covered this. "The stupid bitch most likely cut and hit herself to inflict these injuries just so she could get some sick pleasure out of jailing me for no reason. I'm innocent!"

A murmur swept through the courtroom at this statement. Most people, however, as Harry was pleased to note, were shaking their heads disbelievingly at Vernon, and the judge, who had so far not betrayed the slightest hint of anything other than neutrality throughout the duration of the case, had decided to cut in at this point.

"If I may, Mr. Dursley, I would like to remind you of something you said earlier in this meeting. You stated that there was nothing wrong with the relationship between you and your wife. Now, the jury and I were confused at this statement, as that was not what this case was about, but now things seem to be making sense. You have disrupted the flow of continuity in your statements by first declaring that your relationship with Mrs. Dursley was nothing but harmonious, yet now you use diminutive language in relation to her and insinuate a problem with her mental health. From now on I would be very careful with what you say." The judge then settled back into her seat and clasped her hands together, staring at the 'whale-dude' with her eyebrows raised.

Snarling, Vernon resumed his seat, unable to say anything in his defence without looking like a blundering idiot (even though he already did). His lawyer looked mutinous, Harry couldn't prevent the wide grin that plastered itself upon his face and Petunia had an odd expression of satisfaction upon hers. Now convinced that justice was finally within reach, Harry settled back in his chair with a newfound happiness swelling inside him.

-- -- --

The next few days passed in a blur for Harry – a happy, joyous blur. Though he's forgotten at the time, he now remembered that the court case in which justice had been awarded had taken place on his birthday – a wonderful birthday present in himself. And if that wasn't enough, Harry, for the first time in his life, received numerous presents from various people.

Hermione had sent him a nice card and a leather-bound volume that contained a fair bit of information on Defence Against the Dark Arts – despite the evil, incompetent teacher, Harry had found himself liking the subject. Hermione had known this – she was one of the few who did.

Ron had gotten him a box of Chocolate Frogs, while his mother had provided fudge and jumper (despite the warm season). They had also gotten a card each.

Ginny had chosen well with a locket that had a picture of her inside. Engraved on the back of the locket was HP and GW, Forever since 10 January 1991. This was the date they had soul-bonded. The moment Harry had received it, he had made a personal vow to give Ginny an identical locket except with a picture of him inside. He had, of course, made this vow whilst Ginny was distracted.

None of these gifts, however, could top the last one he had received, which had also been the most unexpected. Petunia's gift had been a simple Muggle picture of Lily and James Potter, whose foreheads were touching and who looked so happy and so in love. The younger version of his parents had not seemed to be aware of the photograph that had been taken – they looked as though they thought they were completely alone.

Harry could not stop stammering his thanks when he received this present, which had caused a beam to light up her face. Ever since Vernon had gone, Petunia seemed so much happier – in fact, one day of his absence had made her realise this, and she had organised to have divorce papers sent to Vernon's jail cell as soon as possible.

A smile crossed Harry's face as he remembered the judge's declaration of punishment for his aunt and uncle – while Vernon would be staying in jail for a very long time, Petunia had been given nothing more than a few hours of community service. Also, when it had been discovered that Dudley had not been exactly friendly to Harry, and when it came to light that he'd been involved in the beating up of several kindergarteners, as well as car windows being smashed, he had been sent to a juvenile detention centre, with meetings with a counsellor at this institution at regular intervals. At first, Petunia had been quite upset that her son had to do this, but she had miraculously realised that it was for the best.

The Weasleys had offered for Harry to live with them, but Harry had politely turned down the offer and said that he would continue to live with Petunia, who had promptly moved him from the study and into one of the bedrooms. Harry's new room was quite spacious, and he had a nice, sturdy wooden king single for a bed rather than the rickety metal bed or the thin, flimsy mattress that he had had in the study and the cupboard under the stairs respectively. He had a picture of Ginny and the picture that Petunia had given him of his parents sitting atop his bedside table on either side of a fantastic red-and-gold lamp that had apparently once been Lily's. Petunia had also promised that she would take him into muggle London and get him some new clothes rather than the decrepit hand-me-downs that he had of Dudley's. She would pay for this with the pension she had registered for, as well as some of Vernon's money, which she still had access for despite the fact that they were filing for divorce.

At the moment, Harry and his aunt were visiting the Weasley's. After seeing them at the court case, she had been quite curious as to who they were. After hearing of young Ginny's plan to get her abusive husband into jail, she had been quite admiring of the soon-to-be eleven-year-old.

Upon seeing the house, Petunia gasped at its strange appearance. She looked at Harry in wonderment, and he couldn't help but flash a giddy grin at her. As they entered, Harry introduced Petunia to the each of the Weasleys.

Settling down in the lounge room, he noticed for the first time the strange atmosphere. Ginny came in nervously, and Harry was surprised and slightly horrified to notice the disapproving looks that Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were looking down upon them with.

"Now," announced Mr. Weasley, who was looking at the two with a glare that was not quite as disapproving as Mrs. Weasley's but even more disconcerting because disapproval was not often shown on his face. "Might we ask how exactly Ginny knew what was occurring at your house?"

Harry and Ginny stiffened simultaneously. Time to confess about the soul bond.

**Author's Note: Okay. I can rest now that this is up. If you have any questions, review me and ask. Don't flame me, but I don't mind constructive criticism. Also, I know that Ginny may seem like a bitch in this chapter, but remember that she's just angry at the Dursleys and determined to get justice. Like it? Hate it? Surprised? Err... an adjective that means 'not surprised'? Review! **


	6. Attraction and Other Sinister Things

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, however much I wish that I did. How many times do I have to say it? Eeeesh.**

**Author's Note: Okay, I am updating! Finally! I won' bore you with excuses. There were births, deaths, epiphanies... but I'm sure you don't want to hear about the ups and downs of my personal life; you just want to read the story, I'm sure. So, without further ado, I present Chapter Six (I think) to you, in all its unbetaed, somewhat rushed, I-finally-finished-writing-this-at-two-in-the-morning (and believe me, two in the morning is _late_ for the well-behaved thirteen-year-old) glory...**

**Attraction and Other Sinister Things**

Silence reigned in the Weasley house; Harry was suddenly very aware of the thin, feminine hand he clutched within his own, not to mention the fact that an eleven-year-old and a ten-year-old holding hands would look decidedly odd to anyone other than the two children that the hands belonged to. He swallowed hard, squeezing his eyes shut, painfully aware that even the slightest motion he made would be scrutinized by Ginny's family.

He knew without having to look that Ginny was getting quite stressed. He tried to subtly squeeze her hand, and was rewarded with a rush of affection through their bond. Trying to school his expression into something passably impassive, he called to her through the bond as he clung to the fervent hope that Ginny's parents would not notice their private conversation.

_Ginny? _he asked carefully. _What are we going to do? _

Her response was immediate. _I don't know. _

_Well, that's a first, _he teased affably, though Ginny could sense the undertone of agitation in his mind-voice. _Seriously, though, we've got to do _something. _Your parents are waiting for an answer. _

She shrugged mentally. _Well, we can't do anything with Petunia here. No offense to her or anything, but she doesn't understand magic. We can give her some semblance of an explanation later, and separately. _

_Agreed, _Harry responded. _What do we say to her, though? _

_I dunno, we'll have to improvise. It's going to look pretty damn strange if we carry on any longer – already does. To them, we're just sitting here with random facial expressions flashing across our faces every so often. _Ginny, too, sounded agitated.

_Okay. _Harry opened his eyes and turned to Ginny. She was the better one at improvisation, and besides, it was her family they were telling. They'd rather hear it from her.

"'Kay. Well, um, first… Petunia?" The older woman glanced up at her, surprise registering in her eyes. "Um… we know you want to know how we did it as well, but it's got a lot to do with magic. We will tell you, but it might be better off if we tell you later. We'll need to explain more to you than we will to my mother and father."

Petunia nodded understandingly. "Okay, then. But what do you want me to do while you talk?" She looked uncertain, uncomfortable even. It would be impolite, cruel even, to make her wander the Burrow by herself when she didn't know much about magic.

Ginny smiled devilishly, winking at Harry. He glimpsed her plan, and a soft smile lit his face. Without warning – except for, of course, Harry, who was quite aware of what she was doing, Ginny stood and bellowed out to her four Hogwarts-age brothers. "FRED! GEORGE! PERCY! RON! GET YOUR LAZY ARSES DOWN HERE THIS INSTANT!"

Petunia winced at the sheer volume of the small girl's voice. Mr. Weasley shook his head in bewilderment. The sound of stampeding elephants echoed through the house, and three teenage boys shot into the Weasley living room with worried looks plastered on their faces. A moment later, another teenage boy stepped into the room, scowling fiercely and giving Ginny an icy glare. Mrs. Weasley looked torn between reproving her daughter for being unladylike or congratulating her for her success in summoning her unruly (Fred, George and Ron) and irritatingly unsocial (Percy) older brothers.

"Ginevra? What is the meaning of this?" Percy finally broke the stilted silence. As usual, I was with an ignorant and pompous statement that made Ginny grit her teeth. She turned to her brother.

Instead of answering his question, however, she snarled, "Don't. Call. Me. _Ginevra_." She looked ready to kill.

Percy ignored her. "And you know, Ginevra, it is quite unladylike to use diminutive language." He didn't notice the collective wince that the rest of the Weasleys and Harry all had on their faces when he said this, but Ginny surprised all when she didn't retaliate with her normal wild fervour. Instead, she grumbled through her and Harry's mind-link, _Gryffindor my diminutive-language. _Harry stifled a laugh.

"Could all of you guys show Petunia around the house? Harry and I need to talk to Mum and Dad." She'd completely ignored Percy. At this, Percy huffed and stomped out of the room. Ginny rolled her eyes and turned to look at her other brothers. "Fred? George? Ron?" She smiled at each of them in turn, locking eyes with them as she did. Her gaze and smile lingered on Ron.

Her three brothers all nodded. 'Of course, Ginnykins." Fred and George, of course, spoke in unison. Ron, too, confirmed that he would help show Petunia around. The older woman stood, leaving the room with Ginny's three brothers after giving Harry a warm smile.

The room became awkwardly silent once more. Ginny and Harry glanced at each other. _Now what?_ Harry asked.

_Now… we tell them something. _She sighed, and her mind-voice dropped to a whisper. _But what do we tell them? _She and Harry were both at a loss, but then an idea occurred to Ginny. It wasn't something either of them wanted to do, but they both knew they couldn't keep their secret forever.

_We have to tell them the truth, don't we? _Harry's mind-voice was resigned.

_Yes. _Ginny, too, was resigned. _Oh, Harry, I wish we didn't have to! I wish this could be our little secret for just a little while longer. _She sighed, both mentally and aloud. _But we have to. There's no other explanation that will suffice for them. And we'd have to tell them eventually… I just wish it wasn't _now_…_

"Mum, Dad… this is going to sound really, _really _strange… so just bear with us…" She swallowed hard, and Harry squeezed her hand supportively. It was Ginny's parents, so she would have to do the talking. But Harry would be there for her… her anchor. "Do you remember last year, Mum, when you found me and Harry in the woods unconscious and we told you we had no idea what had happened?" Her parents nodded. "Well, we weren't being entirely truthful…"

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley looked blank. "What does that have to do with you knowing about Harry being mistreated?" Mrs. Weasley asked suspiciously. Her eyes narrowed, and she looked directly at Harry and Ginny's linked hands as she waited for an explanation.

Harry and Ginny looked at one another cautiously, and Harry spoke up. "Mrs. Weasley… something very strange happened that night. I think Ginny might be better off explaining that part."

"That night, I was walking Harry back to his house, when I tripped over a tree root. I was falling, and Harry reached out to help, and grabbed me round the waist." Her parents frowned, beckoning for her to continue. She did so. "When Harry and I first touched then, we blacked out. We came to in a sort of… dreamscape, I guess. It was white all around, and at first I thought it was a dream… so did Harry…" She paused, not knowing whether or not this next part would go over well. "But the strange thing was… Harry and I were dreaming the same dream. And we could talk to one another, and it was _real."_

Everything was, once again, painfully silent. Finally, Mr. Weasley broke it with, "_Real? _You mean to say…" He seemed at a loss for words before finally continuing, "You mean to say, you were somehow able to talk between your minds?" He was shocked.

Ginny smiled. Her father was a sharp one. "Yes, Daddy. He didn't know what on _Earth _was going on… neither did I, for that matter, but I knew more than he did. So I told him he was a wizard." She shrugged. "I also told him what I knew of that Halloween night when his parents died…" She squeezed Harry's hand apologetically. "Which wasn't much. He took everything quite well."

Her parents were obviously in dire need of more information; in other circumstances, the expressions of confusion on their faces would have been amusing. Now, though, it certainly was not. Ginny continued on where she left off. "And then we came to, and we were here, and so was Dumbledore. But then something even stranger happened." She paused. Her parents had hungry expressions on their faces; it did not befit them well. "We could… we could…" She felt a lump in her throat. She didn't want to tell them this! She wanted this to be Harry and her private thing!

_I know, Gin, _Harry murmured. _I know. But we've got to tell them, you know that._

_I _know_! _she said. _It's so bloody _hard_, though. Painful even. It just sucks. _

In response, Harry sent a wave of understanding empathy to her, bolstering her resolve. She continued on doggedly. "It was then that Harry and I first discovered that we could converse through our minds."

The silence was a thick, weighty blanket over them this time. No-one seemed to want to _dare _to break it. Finally, though, Ginny ventured to. "Mum? Dad? Say something, please…"

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were in shock. Their only daughter… neither of them could quite process what their little princess had just told them. Finally, Mrs. Weasley put her daughter out of her misery and broke the night's billionth awkward silence.

"Sweetie… what do you mean, _converse through your minds?" _She looked quite ready to berate her only daughter about what was proper.

Seeing this, Ginny hurried to assuage her mother. "Yeah… it's just like talking to someone, just like a normal conversation, except it's in our minds. And sometimes we can sense each other's emotions, just a little, and we kind of know when the other is in pain… that's why I was screaming and everything that night Harry and the others went after the Philosopher's Stone. I knew he was in pain and, to a certain extent, could feel the pain as well, though that bit could have just been in my head, I guess." She didn't dare say that if they concentrated, they could share senses… telling them _that _would most likely send her mother off into a tirade about them looking through the other's eyes while showering or something.

Mrs. Weasley fell silent, and Ginny allowed her to digest that for a while. Mr. Weasley still hadn't said anything, but finally, tentatively, made an enquiry. "So – so does that mean that you were talking to each other the whole time while Harry was at Hogwarts?"

The two nodded in synchronization. "I've learned pretty much everything that Harry did last year. It's going to be dreadfully boring repeating it all." She smiled softly. "It'll be fantastic to finally see everything for myself, though. I just wish I could start out in second year with Harry and Ron. And Hermione, though technically I haven't met her yet. I didn't get a chance at the train station."

Mr. Weasley turned to look at his wife. "Well, that must be why they didn't send any owls to each other. They didn't need to." He smiled sadly. "It explains a lot."

Mrs. Weasley sighed. "That it does."

* * *

The conversation had ended soon after that, and Harry and Petunia had enjoyed a delicious lunch with the Weasleys. Upon returning home, Harry had struggled to distract himself so as not to be privy to the conversation between Ginny and her parents. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had reacted as expected, taking Ginny aside, asking her if she was happy with everything that had happened. She, of course, had responded that she wouldn't change things for the world. That had settled it; though they _had_ seemed to want to give Ginny _The Talk._ She'd managed to distract them from the horrifying prospect, but it was only a matter of time.

The next day, Ginny had ventured over to Harry's place, where he had moved into an actual bedroom rather than the tiny study and was slowly but surely beginning to make the room his own. Petunia had also promised to take Harry shopping for clothes that actually fit him. The prospect was exciting for him, though he'd never admit it to anyone but Ginny; and even then, she knew anyway. She could sense his emotions.

Harry and Ginny had told Petunia of their curious little soul bond. She didn't really understand just how rare it was, being Muggle, but Harry and Ginny had been able to divulge the fact that, if they concentrated hard enough, they could merge their senses. They knew that Petunia wouldn't react as though it were improper, like Ginny's parents would have. They found that it was actually kind of refreshing to tell her, as she was someone who did not have the same views as a witch or wizard, and hearing her opinions was actually quite interesting.

* * *

Three days later, Harry and Ginny ventured into Ottery St. Catchpole in search of some fitting clothes for the former, accompanied by Aunt Petunia and Mrs. Weasley. Petunia had at first been intending to take Harry to Muggle London, but after Ginny told him about the clothing stores in Ottery St. Catchpole, Harry managed to convince his aunt to take him shopping there. It was a warm but not stifling summer day, perfect for an outing into town, and soon enough, the four of them found themselves in a little side alley of boutiques.

Harry stared in horror at the array of bright shops filled with girly clothing, suddenly and inexplicably terrified. _Oh Merlin, _he gasped. _What have I gotten myself into?_

Ginny giggled; unbeknownst to them, it had been out loud. _You're in for some well-deserved terror, Harry. That's what shopping is. _She flashed him a wide grin. _Don't worry, I'm sure there's a shop here _somewhere _that isn't horrifically pink. _She'd seen the way his eyes had lingered on a bright, fuchsia pink shop with extravagant and frankly disgusting clothes that no-one in their right mind would wear… except maybe Lavender Brown. _Oh, Harry, _she giggled. _That shop only sells clothes for girls. We're going to go to a place where they have simple, plain clothes for guys, okay?_ Harry nodded, relieved. Unfortunately, neither realized that the nod hadn't been sent through their minds, but instead had been a physical head movement. It was then that Mrs. Weasley intervened.

"You should really be careful," she warned sternly after she'd pulled them aside from all the hustle and bustle of the walkway. "You can't go nodding and giggling without warning – that's what it seems like to other people. Muggles might well think you are insane, but at Hogwarts you could easily tip someone off to your situation. What with Harry being who he is, you'd be all over the papers, and this is something best kept quiet." The two children nodded, properly abashed.

"Sorry, Mrs. Weasley," they chanted in unison. The aforementioned Weasley matriarch sighed, and the duo swore they heard her mutter something about having another set of twins on her hands, or as good as. They tried to keep their giggling inside their heads at that.

Finally arriving at their destination, Petunia and Mrs. Weasley led the near-infamous duo to a small, slightly dingy-looking shop at the end of the street. As they walked in, a bell tinkled.

The shop was obviously for childrens' wear, as the clothes that would fit Harry were among the largest of the shop. There were two tables to either side of second-hand clothes; one table held girls clothes and one held boys. The rest of the racks held new clothes, and there was a cash register in the centre of the room. Two changing rooms were nestled in the corner.

"Well, it could be worse," Harry said aloud. But Ginny could feel his excitement.

* * *

The rest of Harry's morning was spent being dragged around a clothing shop by three determined women, changing in and out of various types of clothing more times than he'd like to remember. When the morning ended and they finally made their way out of the shop, however, he grudgingly had to admit that he was happy with the result. He had a few pairs of jeans, shoes, socks, and underwear, as well as a few T-shirts and jackets. It was not a gigantic wardrobe by any means, but it was plenty and it was better than he'd ever had. He'd even managed to persuade Mrs. Weasley to let him buy a dress for Ginny off the second-hand table with his own money from Gringotts. He still didn't quite know what had made her eventually agree… perhaps it was the well-timed use of his puppy-dog eyes?

Ginny reached over as they left the store, snatching up his hand within her own. _Thanks for that, Harry, _she said affectionately.

_No problem,_ Harry replied, just as affectionate. _It was a pretty dress… I still don't know why Aunt Petunia and your mum wouldn't let me see you wearing it, though. _He frowned, careful to keep the frown inside their minds.

Ginny giggled. _You'll see, _she said cryptically. She, too, would not let him know the reason why he hadn't been allowed to see her wearing the dress. It was difficult to keep secrets from one another, which was why they didn't do it often. It must be important, otherwise, she wouldn't not tell him. Catching his train of thought, Ginny smiled affably and said, _It's a girl thing. _

* * *

The morning of July the 31st dawned bright and cloudless. Harry yawned, stretching and reaching for his glasses. His alarm clock reported that it was dawn. _That's odd_, he thought to himself. He'd been enjoying being able to have a lie-in; now that he didn't have to cook for the Dursleys, he had ample opportunity to sleep until ten.

He glanced at the window; the curtains were wide open, which was again odd. That would explain why he'd woken up – the sunlight had interrupted his sleep – but that question answered left another unexplained. He _never_ left his curtains open, knowing that that woke him up.

"_Hello." _The voice spoke both in his mind and aloud, startling him. He glanced wearily at the doorway, and nearly jumped out of his skin.

"Ginny!" he gasped. His beautiful soulmate stood in the open doorway, beaming brilliantly down at him. And she certainly was beautiful… he abruptly realized why Petunia and Mrs. Weasley hadn't let him see her in that dress.

The dress was a soft amber brown, the exact same shade as her eyes. It draped over her nicely, starting at the neckline along her collarbone and ending two inches above her knees. The singlet straps, hem and neckline were lined with sparkly gold sequins. It fit her perfectly, accentuating the almost-eleven-year-old's small but still blossoming chest just so and showing her already long and smooth legs. Amber sandals with hints of gold adorned her small feet, matching the dress perfectly. Ginny's gleaming copper hair had been pulled back from her face, fastened high up on her head with a glittery gold scrunchie that matched the trim of her dress. Without her hair framing her face, Ginny looked different… older. She was amazing.

Harry stood up, blinking the residue of sleep from his eyes. _You look amazing! _he exclaimed when he finally regained control of his voice… or his mind-voice, at least. He wasn't about to try speaking aloud just yet.

Ginny giggled. _Thanks, _she said softly. _Mum let me come over here early, since it's your birthday. Her and Petunia made me save the dress for today, and Petunia came in last night and opened up your curtains so you'd wake up early. _

Harry gave a start. He hadn't even realized it was his birthday… all thoughts of birthdays had flown from his mind the moment he'd seen his beautiful best friend. Merlin, all thoughts of _anything_ had flown from his head when he'd seen her! _Oh. Thanks. I was wondering why I'd woken up so early. _

Ginny giggled again. _I know, silly. I can hear your thoughts, remember? And you can hear mine. _

Harry smiled in delight. Ginny continued on. _I wanted to be the first to tell you "Happy Birthday" today, _she said, in the mental equivalent of a whisper.

Harry beamed. _Thanks, _he said. _I really appreciate it. _

_We're going to Diagon Alley today, _Ginny said. _Hermione's going to be there today as well, apparently. There's meant to be some sort of book signing._ _I'm going to go downstairs while you get dressed._

_Great! _Harry said delightedly. Ginny turned to leave the room, but just as she stepped out, she turned again.

_Oh, and Harry?_

_Yes, Ginny dear?_

_Happy Birthday. Again._

* * *

An hour later, Harry, Ginny and the rest of the Weasleys stood before the fireplace at the Burrow, Harry's stomach churning uncomfortably; he was about to make his first attempt at Floo travel. Petunia had begged off of going to Diagon Alley, taking the opportunity to complete some of the community service she'd been charged with. Given that the wizarding world was rife with unjust prejudice, Harry and Ginny both agreed (privately, of course) that it was probably for the best.

"Now, Harry," Mrs. Weasley said warmly, "remember to say your destination nice and clearly."

"And keep your elbows tucked in," Ron added.

"Don't breathe in when you let go of the Floo powder, or you'll choke on the ashes."

"And close your eyes, too. Seeing all those different lounge rooms flashing past you a mile a minute can be a bit disconcerting the first time."

Harry felt as though he was being battered with information; it was starting to give him a headache. There was no _way _he would remember all of that; he felt _sure_ he was going to stuff up.

"Poor Harrykins looks a bit green," Fred commented slyly.

"Yes, I noticed that too, Fred. Don't you think someone should go before him, Mum?" George continued.

Spotting their plan straight away, Mrs. Weasley said, "If you think I'm going to let you two of all people roam about Diagon Alley on your own, you'd be sadly mistaken. Arthur, could you go first, dear?"

Before Harry knew it, Mr. Weasley and Percy had both Flooed already, and it was his turn. Swallowing hard, he stepped over to the fireplace and ducked down into the hearth. Snatching up a handful of greenish-grey powder from the pot clipped to the side of the mantel, he announced, "Daigon Alley!"

The moment the words left his mouth, he realized the mistake. But before anyone could stop him, electric green flames flared up and whisked him away.

* * *

"No!" Ginny yelped. The second the flames died away, she leapt forward, snatching up a handful of Floo powder and diving into the fireplace. "DIAGON ALLEY!"

She was whisked away before the others knew what was happening.

Meanwhile, Harry had shot out of the fireplace at which he'd arrived. Coughing heavily, he picked himself up off the grimy floor on which he lay, scooping up his glasses and ramming them onto his nose. He was in some sort of shop, and by the looks of it, it wasn't the most pleasant place to be.

Brushing the soot off his robes absently, he glanced around the dank little store with a morbid curiosity. What little light there was illuminated some truly grotesque things; a twisted, knobbly grey hand fused upon a little stalk thing that looked disturbingly like a handle, and a sickly black candle beside it gave off the unpleasant stench of something rotten, while giving off the aura off something undeniably Dark. In fact, _everything_ in that shop gave off the aura off something distinctly evil. Harry shuddered. What was he doing here?

_Gin? _he called uneasily.

A wave of panic shot toward him through the bond. _Harry? Merlin, where _are _you? I've been worried sick! _

_Oh… um, where are you? Are you in Diagon Alley or still in the Burrow? _

Impatiently, Ginny sent a quick image of the Leaky Cauldron before Harry felt that familiar prickling behind his eyes, and Ginny was looking through them. _Merlin! _she breathed. _Look around a bit, Harry._

He complied, eyes lingering on anything that looked sort of interesting. Ginny, too, was intensely grossed out by that disgusting hand.

_It's foul, _she said, and then, _What is that sickening _smell_? _She'd merged her other senses with his as well, and had noticed the pungent odor right away.

_I dunno, but I think it might be that candle, _Harry guessed, pointing.

_You probably shouldn't make 'seemingly random' gestures like Mum said, just in case someone walks in, _Ginny pointed out.

_If someone walked in here now, I'd be more worried about what they think of me being here and who the hell they were, not 'seemingly random gestures'. Anyone who would come in _here_ in their right mind isn't someone I'd like to be around. _

_Agreed, _Ginny said emphatically. Then…

_Oh no! I can hear footsteps! _Ginny said, visibly panicky. Thankfully, her father had realized that she was most likely speaking to Harry, so he frowned and shielded her from view. Mrs. Weasley shot through the fireplace then, and was whispering hastily to her husband.

_Crap! Hide, hide, where can I hide… _Harry glanced around hastily; an ornate black cupboard caught his eye, so he scrambled for it and flung himself in. He swung the door shut behind him before proceeding to flatten himself to the bottom of the cupboard and peer through the crack at the bottom.

Just seconds after he was safely – or as 'safe' as it was possible to get in a shop so sinister – tucked away and out of sight, a bell tinkled as the shop's door swung open. In walked –

_Holy shit, that's Draco Malfoy! _Ginny gasped. The aristocratic, arrogant blonde idiot sashayed through the door like he was some sort of saint, followed quickly in by a man who could only be Malfoy Senior. The long, white-blonde hair of the man reached his waist, and his face shared an obvious likeness to his son's when you looked past the weathered, wrinkled skin. The same cold grey eyes as his son stared out of that face, and the man walked in with the air of someone regal, rich and supposedly superior.

Malfoy Senior stalked throughout the strange shop, looking at the items on display with a lazy sort of disinterest as he made his way to the shop's dusty countertop. Pushing a button on the old, outdated bell that sat atop this counter, he turned to his son and articulated sharply, "Touch nothing Draco."

_Touch nothing, Draco, _Ginny mimicked. Her impersonation was overly whiny but otherwise surprisingly accurate, and Harry repressed the immediate urge to laugh out loud.

_Shut it, Gin, _he grumbled. _It wouldn't do for Malfoy and his dad to find Harry Potter laughing like a maniac in the cupboard of a shop so obviously Dark, now would it? We would be SO DEAD if that happened. Literally. _

_True, _Ginny agreed, stifling her own snort of laughter. _C'mon, let's focus. I want to see what the Malfoys are doing here. _

Harry refocused on the room before him. Malfoy Junior had just reached for a glass eye, and he grumbled sulkily, "I thought you said you were going to buy me a present."

_Spoilt brat, _Harry and Ginny thought in unison.

"I said I would buy you a racing broom," Malfoy Senior said sharply as he drummed his spidery fingers on the countertop.

"What's the good of that if I'm not on the house team?" Malfoy whined ungratefully. "Harry Potter got a Nimbus Two Thousand last year. Special permission from Dumbledore so he could play for Gryffindor. He's not even that good, it's just because he's _famous… _famous for having a stupid _scar _on his forehead…"

_Jealous, are we? _Ginny gloated as Malfoy bent down to look at a shelf of those creepy shriveled skulls.

Malfoy Senior proceeded to reprimand his son, stating rather cryptically that it 'was not prudent' to seem 'less than fond of Harry Potter' in a patronizing, snooty voice. _Weirdos, _Ginny muttered.

A creepy old hunchback named 'Borgin' then arrived, distracting the two Malfoys from their father-and-son argument, which was so unconventional in its formality and harshness. Family wasn't supposed to act so cold to one another.

Borgin began a seemingly well-rehearsed sales pitch to Malfoy Senior, who cut in impatiently, saying, "I'm not buying today, Mr. Borgin, but selling."

"Selling?" Borgin deflated and the fixed smile slipped from his face, disappointed at the missed opportunity to make a profit.

"You have heard, of course, that the Ministry is conducting more raids," said Malfoy Senior as he withdrew a tightly scrolled piece of parchment from the inner pocket of his robes and handed it to Borgin for him to read. "I have a few – ah – items at home that might embarrass me, if the Ministry were to call…"

_Shit! _Ginny gasped. _That sneaky little bastard! He knows Dad's hot on his trail, so now he's selling all his suspicious crap so that Dad and the others won't find anything when they search his house. _

Malfoy Senior and Borgin then proceeded to partake in a civilized argument about the sales, in which Malfoy referred to Ginny's dad as a "flea-bitten, Muggle-loving fool". Ginny and Harry both fumed with anger and Harry had to restrain himself from diving in there and throttling the sneering little git of a Malfoy.

Malfoy Junior then interrupted the conversation. "Can I have _that?"_ he asked, staring greedily at the creepy, withered hand that Harry and Ginny had noticed earlier.

"Ah, the Hand of Glory!" said Borgin. Sniffing the opportunity to make a sale, he abandoned Malfoy Senior's list and hurried over to Malfoy Junior's side, throwing himself into his sales pitch with renewed vigour. "Insert a candle and it gives light only to the holder! Best friend of thieves and plunderers!" He turned to Malfoy Senior and said admiringly, "Your son has fine taste, sir."

"I hope my son will amount to more than a thief or a plunderer, Borgin," Malfoy Senior drawled, and Borgin quickly jumped to placate him.

"Though if his school marks don't pick up, that may indeed be all he is fit for," the aristocratic bastard continued coldly.

"It's not my fault," Malfoy Junior retorted indignantly, "those teachers all have favourites, that Hermione Granger – "

"I would have thought you'd be ashamed that a girl of no wizarding family beat you in every exam," Malfoy Senior snapped in return.

_Ha! _said Harry as Ginny said _Take that! _at the same time.

Malfoy Senior and Borgin then started to haggle over pricing, and Harry and Ginny distracted themselves with a lighthearted debate about who was the bigger shithead (shithead being Ginny's term) – Malfoy or Malfoy's dad.

_I reckon they're both as bad as each other, _Harry compromised eventually. They had faced a disagreement; Harry thought that Malfoy was worse, but Ginny argued her side by saying that Harry only thought that because he'd seen more of Malfoy Junior than Senior and that the older one was worse because he'd had a longer time on Earth to hone his "shitheadedness" to perfection.

_Fair enough, _Ginny agreed reluctantly. They had just started up a competition for who could come up with the better insult to either of the Malfoys or Borgin when Malfoy Junior (or junior git), who had been idly exploring the room whilst the adults argued, began to approach the cupboard in which Harry hid.

_Uh oh, _Harry said worriedly. He watched Malfoy approach warily, cautiously, all the while trying to come up with a feasible plan of escape and/or attack.

_Help! _he whispered to Ginny, interrupting her mantra of repeated swear words.

_Alright – well, um, maybe you could – _However, Harry and Ginny were spared having to invent a spur-of-the-moment escape plan. "Done!" Malfoy Senior declared, with a pointed glance at Borgin when the oily man opened his mouth to argue. "Come, Draco!" he called.

_That reminds me of a master calling his dog, _Ginny sniggered as Harry wiped his sweating forehead on his sleeve, relieved. The moment the door to the shop snapped shut, Borgin began a string of dark mutterings and curse words of which Ginny would be proud (_Man, that guy can curse almost as well as I can!) _The suspicious little man disappeared into a back room, and Harry waited a few heartbeats to make sure he wouldn't reemerge and catch Harry in the shop. Once satisfied that Borgin really was gone, Harry quietly opened the cupboard door and slipped out, stretching his cramped muscles.

Harry stole through the dingy alleyways of a place Ginny identified worriedly as Knockturn Alley. He tried to appear invisible, but without his Cloak, the act was rather futile.

"HARRY!" It was Hagrid! Relieved to be rescued from his run-in with an ugly, mossy-toothed witch who looked like she wanted to steal him away and torture him, Harry shook off the vice-like grip of said witch and scrambled through the throng of crazy Dark people.

"Hagrid!" he gasped. "Thank Merlin! I was lost… Floo powder, you can't trust it…" He was surprised at how croaky his physical voice was, and had to adjust to speaking out loud. He swiftly found himself seized by the scruff of the neck and dragged out into the bright sunlight of Diagon Alley.

"Yer a mess!" Hagrid proclaimed. "What were yeh doin' down there, 'Arry? Dodgy place, Diagon Alley is…"

Harry adjusted his broken glasses and brushed some of the soot from his clothes hastily. He hadn't really realized how bad he must look, but now Hagrid mentioned it, he _must_ have been a mess. "Like I said, I was lost. Floo powder… I must've came out the wrong fireplace."

_Hang on… what was _Hagrid _doing down there then? _Ginny thought.

_Yeah, that is weird, _Harry agreed. He repeated Ginny's question aloud, looking at Hagrid suspiciously.

"_I _was lookin' fer a Flesh-Eatin' Slug Repellent," Hagrid defended in a growl. Harry and Hagrid continued to talk absentmindedly as they headed for the Leaky Cauldron.

"Harry! Harry! Over here!" Harry spun around at the sound of Hermione's voice and found himself engulfed in a strangling hug. Spitting bits of bushy brown hair out of his mouth, harry pulled away and said, "Hello, Hermione."

She beamed at him. "Hang on… what on Earth happened to your _glasses?"_ Hermione stepped back, whipping out her wand and, before Harry could blink, Hermione announced, _"Oculus Reparo!" _Harry's glasses mended themselves and he stared at her in amazement. "I'll have to remember that one," he said.

"It's alright, it's alright, he's with Harry and Hermione now," Ginny whispered to her father as Harry, Hermione and Hagrid made their way to the Leaky Cauldron.

"Do you know how disconcerting that is?" her father whispered back. The father-and-daughter duo beckoned to the other Weasleys and they exited into the street.

"Harry!" He knew she was there, but waited till he heard her calling out to him before he turned, to keep up appearances.

"Ginny!" he cried, swiveling around and throwing himself at his best friend.

"Thank Merlin you're all right!" Ginny announced dramatically. The inseparable duo shared a tight hug before separating. Harry still kept ahold of her hand, though, as they always did.

"Gin, this is Hermione, me and Ron's friend that we told you about. Hermione, this is Ginny, my best friend," Harry said, introducing the two girls. Ginny and Hermione had missed each other at the train station a couple of months prior, so this was the first time they had met officially… though Ginny knew Hermione as well as Harry did from the times she'd merged senses with him while he was at Hogwarts. Hermione couldn't know this, of course, so Ginny pretended this was the first time she'd met the girl.

"It's great to finally meet you," Ginny enthused, extending her free hand to shake Hermione's. "I've heard so much about you from the boys." She smiled at Hermione, and Hermione returned the gesture, curiously taking in the clasped hands of the two. There was a knowing edge to her smile.

"Likewise," Hermione said with a laugh. "It'll be so nice to finally have a girl to talk to."

Ginny beamed. "Oh, definitely," she agreed. "I've been the only girl amongst a jumble of rowdy boys for far too long."

_Hey! _Harry said indignantly. _What's wrong with_ me_?_

_Oh, Harry, _Ginny said affectionately. _You're still my best friend, you always will be. There's just a difference between talking to another girl and talking to a boy. Of course it's different for me, because I have you, and we can share anything. But it'll be sort of nice to have a _conventional_ friend, you know? Someone who you can tell what you _want_ to tell, but keep other things private. And girls and boys have their differences… Oh, and before you say anything, Ron doesn't count either. For starters, he's not a girl, and he's also my brother. That just adds a whole new layer of complexity… do you see what I mean? _

_Yeah, I guess so, _Harry said, as Hermione caught sight of Ron and vaulted off to antagonize him about his homework. _Okay, all right, I do. Thanks for explaining it to me. _

Ginny grinned cheekily. _No problem. _

_Girls are weird. _They both laughed, and Ginny pretended to be offended, but the façade didn't last five seconds.

Mr. Weasley leaned over. "Be careful," he whispered. "Bursting out laughing or grinning for no apparent reason could arouse suspicion."

"Thanks, Dad," Ginny said. "Hey, speaking of 'arousing suspicion…'"

Harry jumped in. "Well, I came out of the fireplace at a shop called… hang on, what was it called?" He turned to Ginny.

"I dunno," she said, "but it was owned by some man called Borgin."

Mr. Weasley's eyes widened in recognition. "Borgin and Burkes!" he said. "Thank Merlin you got out of the place!" he said.

"Yeah… and anyway, I was looking around – I had no idea where I was, you see, otherwise I would've left straight away – when me and Gin heard footsteps, so I hid in a closet. And in walked Draco Malfoy and his father."

Mr. Weasley gasped. "And then what happened?" he asked.

"Malfoy's dad tried to sell some stuff to Borgin, Malfoy Junior tried to convince his dad to buy him this weird shriveled hand and they slandered Muggle-borns and Harry," Ginny said flippantly. "So nothing new. But Malfoy had a list of things he wanted to sell, and Borgin reviewed it and decided to buy some of it. He's going to pick it up from Malfoy Manor tomorrow, but they didn't say a time."

Harry stared at Ginny admiringly. "I would've forgotten that part. Good job," he commended.

Mr. Weasley stared at the two. "You know, we just might be able to catch him this time. I'll organize a raid for tomorrow… thanks, you two. This is a huge help."

"Well, here we are," Mrs. Weasley said as they strode through the doors of Gringotts. She'd greeted Harry, quite enthusiastic in her worry, as soon as the Weasleys had met up with Harry, Hermione and Hagrid, and now seemed extra paranoid about losing someone. She did a quick head count as they bustled through the Gringotts doors and made their way over to the carts.

Harry felt rather embarrassed at the vaults; he tried to hide the entrance to his own when they reached it with his body. He just wished the Weasleys would let him give them a small amount of money, just a bit, as a token of appreciation for being there as his real family. They were to proud to accept charity, though, and would rebel at the suggestion.

The motley group separated to buy the various things they needed before reassembling outside Flourish and Blotts an hour later.

The bookshop was in chaos. A crowd of squealing witches across all generations pulsed inside the shop, and another jostling crowd tried to elbow their way in from outside. The reason for this quickly became apparent as Hermione spotted a banner stretched across the shop's upper window. According to the banner, Gilderoy Lockhart would be signing copies of his autobiography today for a few hours.

"We can actually meet him!" Hermione said delightedly. "I mean, he's written almost the entire booklist! And just look at all the things he's _done…"_ She sighed as she gazed admiringly at the winking and smiling picture of an arrogant-looking man that had been painted on the banner. Mrs. Weasley, too, stood and admired the picture, patting her hair absentmindedly.

_What's gotten into them? _Harry asked Ginny, frowning.

_I dunno. They're a bit… starstruck, I suppose. And they reckon he's handsome, _Ginny replied, rolling her eyes.

_Is he?_ Harry asked. All of a sudden he felt quite anxious to hear Ginny's response.

_Oh, I dunno… I suppose so. But he's not my type, _she quickly reassured.

Harry felt relieved, though he wasn't quite sure why. _That's good then. What _is _your type?_

_Um…_ Ginny sputtered nervously for a second, but was spared from answering by Mr. Weasley gently prodding them and saying, "We're going in now."

Harry and Ginny forced their way through the throng, keeping a tight hold of the other's hand so as not to lose each other. They finally managed to squeeze into the packed shop, and quickly regrouped with the rest of the Weasleys, Hermione, and Mr. and Mrs. Granger, Hermione's parents. Mr. Weasley quickly made his way over to Hermione's parents, striking up a conversation about something Muggle.

After an embarrassing run-in with Gilderoy Lockhart, in which Harry found his picture destined for the front page of the _Daily Prophet _and in which the smarmy git (Lockhart, of course, not Harry) announced that he would be taking up the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts this year (the announcement caused most of the people in the room to cheer and Harry, Ro and Ginny to groan simultaneously). Finally making his escape, Harry dumped the armload of signed books he had regretfully been 'awarded' with from Lockhart into Ginny's cauldron.

"Never again," he groaned. "That was pure torture."

"You poor thing," Ginny said sympathetically. They spoke out loud so as to not arouse suspicion; it was fairly likely that no-one else would be able to hear them over the droning of everyone else talking and squealing anyway. "He was practically squishing you with that arm of his. Tell me, what was the stench of his perfume?"

Harry laughed. "Dunno. I think it was meant to smell nice… it had more of a 'wet dog' effect, though. I'm not sure if it was perfume or if that was just his natural smell."

They both broke out in laughter, and Ginny said, "It wouldn't surprise me if that was his natural smell, but I'd put my money on it being perfume. He's too much of a pansy to _not_ wear perfume at a 'big event' like this." They laughed again, and Harry voiced his agreement. It was then that Junior Git made his appearance.

"_Famous_ Harry Potter," he drawled with that ceaselessly irritating voice of his. "Can't even go into a _bookshop _without making the front page." He turned up his nose and waited for a response.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "What do you want, Pansy?" she asked, sighing.

Malfoy looked affronted. "I am not a pansy!" he snapped. Then, hastily and with double the snideness to recover from Ginny's comment, he said, "oh, Potter, it looks like you've got yourself a girlfriend!"

Harry followed Ginny's suit and rolled his eyes. "What's it to you if she is?" he challenged.

Ginny then took her cue and widened her eyes dramatically. "Oh, I'm sorry – Malfoy, is it? For a second there I got you confused with one of your housemates that Harry and I saw earlier today… Pansy Parkinson, that's where I got the Pansy from… my mistake. It won't happen again." Her eyes got even wider, if that was possible, and she gave Malfoy a doe-eyed look of mockingly pleading innocence.

Malfoy scowled, turning scarlet, and opened his mouth to retort. Ron and Hermione then emerged from the crowd, both clutching a stack of books to their chests. Malfoy saw his chance and flung a sharp-toothed insult at the approaching redheaded boy, who turned scarlet as well. Dropping his books in his cauldron, he started towards Malfoy, only to have Harry and Hermione hold him back. Malfoy looked pleased at having finally got the kind of reaction he'd wanted.

Malfoy Senior – or Senior Git – and Mr. Weasley then joined them (separately, of course) and the argument that proceeded was full of thinly veiled political stabs whose meaning escaped Harry and Ginny and obvious insults whose meanings were as clear as day. The result was a brazen fistfight between two grown men. Ginny's cauldron was knocked flying, her books scattered everywhere. Hagrid approached to break up Mr. Weasley and Senior Git's fistfight, and Harry, Ginny, Ron and Hermione scrambled around on the floor gathering up Ginny's scattered schoolbooks.

"Here, girl – take your book – it's the best your father can give you – " Malfoy Senior thrust Ginny's tattered transfiguration book at her and swept out of the shop, Malfoy Junior trailing despondently after him, his pride sufficiently dented.

"C'mon, let's go," someone muttered, and the group was ushered from the shop. They all headed toward the Leaky Cauldron, Harry and Ginny once again holding hands. The pot of Floo powder was passed around, and as Harry grabbed his own handful, he said to Ginny, _I _definitely _don't like Floo powder. _

_* * *_

It was the night before Ginny's first year at Hogwarts started, and both Harry and Ginny were immensely excited. Harry's first year had been fun for the both of them, but it just hadn't been the same without Ginny there. Now, they would both be at Hogwarts, and _together._ The thought had them both flying on air.

_I can't believe I'm finally going to go to Hogwarts! _Ginny squealed. They were currently sitting side by side, holding hands as per usual, and packing Ginny's trunk in her bedroom. They'd tackled Harry's trunk earlier in the day, and were now faced with the difficulty that was sorting out what Ginny was going to take and what would be left behind. They were too excited to leave packing till tomorrow morning like the rest of the house, but had copped a bit of slack from Ron, Fred and George, who frowned upon being organized.

_Okay, so we've packed all your clothes, _Harry said, _and your cauldron and potions kit. So now let's sort out your schoolbooks. _

_Okay, _Ginny agreed, clambering to her feet and releasing Harry's hand. She walked over to her desk, where all her schoolbooks were stacked up in the corner. One by one, she threw them to Harry, who then caught them and slotted them into Ginny's trunk wherever they would fit.

_This is like Tetris, _Harry said, laughing. At Ginny's confusion, he quickly gave her the impression of the Muggle computer game to which he had referred.

_Oh! _Ginny said. _It is too! Cool. _She picked up the last book from the stack; her transfiguration book. _Hey, what's this? _She pulled a smaller, nondescript brown book from where it had been stuffed inside the first book, turning it over in her hands.

_T.M. Riddle, _she murmured, running her finger along the inscription of the owner's name on the spine. _Who's that?_

_I don't know, _Harry replied. _Pass it here. _Ginny walked across her room and plonked herself down beside Harry, passing him the book. He opened it. The first page had a date scrawled at the top in smudged ink, but the rest of the page was blank. He flipped to the next page. Blank. And the next one. Blank. Every page in the book was blank.

_It must be a diary, _said Ginny, _but clearly it's never been written in. _

_Yeah, _Harry agreed. _Want to try it? _

_All right, _Ginny said. Harry got up and rifled around on Ginny's desk to find a spare ink bottle and quill that she hadn't packed. Grabbing them, he returned and sat down beside Ginny again, handing them to her. Ginny uncorked the ink bottle, dipped the quill in, and put quill to parchment.

**Hello. My name is Ginny Weasley.**No sooner had she written this, the ink dunk into the page and vanished.

_What the hell? _Harry said. They both stared at the place where the ink had been, then at each other. And when they looked back at the page…

Ink was oozing back out of the page, forming letters in an old-fashioned script. **Hello, Ginny Weasley. My name is Tom Riddle. **And no sooner had Harry and Ginny read the words, they faded away into the paper.

Astonished, Harry and Ginny stared back at each other. _Well, it _is _magic, _Ginny reasoned. _We shouldn't be _too _surprised._

_Good point, _Harry agreed. Ginny took the quill in her hand once again, and wrote back on the paper. **I am eleven years old. It is the day before I leave for my first day at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry! **

They waited anxiously for a response, and received one quite quickly. **Really?** Tom Riddle wrote. **I went to Hogwarts, long ago. It's a good school. Are you excited to be going there?**

Ginny didn't wait to write back this time. **Oh, yes. I have six older brothers and a best friend who have all gone there and I'm the only one who hasn't yet. My best friend and I are really excited to be going there together! He's a year ahead of me. **Harry smiled at Ginny affectionately, and she smiled back.

**That's good. Hogwarts is a very exciting place, and I'm sure you and your best friend will have lots of fun together. What's his name?**

**His name is Harry Potter. **

There was no response for quite a while. Harry drummed his fingers on Ginny's knee and Ginny twirled the quill in her hands impatiently. Then, finally…

**Really? That's quite… interesting. May I speak to him? **The script was messier, rushed, and the tone of the response had changed. This Tom Riddle person seemed feverish, excited… it made Harry's spine crawl with unease.

Harry and Ginny looked at one another. _I don't know, Gin, _Harry said. _This Tom Riddle guy creeps me out a bit. Hell, the whole _concept_ of a diary that talks back to you creeps me out. Should I reply?_

Ginny frowned. _I'm not sure. It didn't really creep me out, at least not until the bit where it found out I was best friends with Harry Potter. It sort of gave off this _vibe._ D'you know what I mean? Maybe it was just me, but it almost seemed like it was… perversely excited. Or is that just me?_

_No, it's not just you. I got that vibe off it too,_ Harry answered.

_Besides, I don't even _need_ a diary. I have you. _She smiled at him, and he smiled back. _I can tell you anything I could tell a diary… no, _more _than I could tell a diary. _

_Exactly. _So they both shut the diary and stuffed it into Ginny's trunk. _It won't hurt to pack it, _Ginny reasoned.

Oh, if they only knew…

**So now all you've got to do is REVIEW! REVIEW! REVIEW! REVIEW! Okay, I'll stop the subliminal messaging now (even though it's fun and I'm high on overtiredness). If you've got any questions, dont hesitate to ask in a REVIEW... Okay, okay, I'll stop the subliminal messages now... ~grumbles~ _spoilsport. _Or, you could PM me if you _really_ wanted to... but I'd much rather a REVIEW, of course. (Okay, Im stopping! Sheesh!) So, bye!**


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